


The Christmas Doll

by virtualpersonal



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Christmas, Creepy, Horror, Humor, Hunter Dean, Hurt/Comfort, Innocent Sam, M/M, Non-Hunter Sam, Orphan Sam, Sam Whump, Sexual Tension, Sexy Times, Teen Sam, Violence, sam and dean are not brothers, schmoopy, xmas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-09
Updated: 2014-12-09
Packaged: 2018-02-28 19:30:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 40,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2744375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/virtualpersonal/pseuds/virtualpersonal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean’s plans to quickly get away from the cheesy town of Christmas, Florida, go awry when he is stuck caring for a teenage kid he rescues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [](http://s1114.photobucket.com/albums/k537/virtualpersonal/story%20art/?action=view&current=licklesoxyxmasdol.jpg)   
> 
> 
> Creepy dolls idea from [Criminal Minds - Dolls Episode](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3Rht6DM7_tI)
> 
> Co-written with Lady Fetish

PROLOGUE 

[August] 

The rain had only just stopped, but pools of water on the asphalt parking lot steamed off the ground. It was hot and sticky, the air heavy and oppressive.

The sixteen year old red head peering into his iPhone as he headed out of the grocery store and to his motorbike didn’t seem to be bothered by the humidity. He smiled as he hit send, and then tucked the phone into his pocket. 

Just as he was about to put his purchases into the tank bag on his cycle, he heard someone approach and turned around. It was just a little old lady, waving her hand and chattering about something.

“No, sorry, don’t have any change,” he said, barely glancing at her.

She continued to talk, touching his arm. “... help...”

“Help with what?” he asked, turning to look over to where she was pointing. There was a parked rusty old van, with a couple grocery bags on the ground next to it.

“Can’t get it loaded..... help… you’re strong....”

He caught enough of her words to understand she needed help loading her bags. Making the same face he usually made when his mother had him do stuff, he headed for her van as she ran after him, still mumbling. Grabbing her bags, he started to load them into the back of the van when he felt her press up against him. 

“Lady,” turning suddenly to ask her to give him more space, he felt a sharp jab in the side of his neck. The world went black.

“You. You’re the one. Perfect. Mother’s perfect little doll,” she crooned, shoving him into the van. It took a few pushes, but then she was able to close the doors. Kicking the syringe out of the way, she slowly walked to the driver’s side, and opened the door. 

Once he was inside, she looked at her rear view mirror. “This time, it will work. You’ll be perfect. All that fine red hair. Don’t worry, you won’t be like the others. I’ve been practicing,” she promised, before starting the car and backing out of the parking stall.


	2. Chapter 2

[November]

Sam’s eyes fluttered open and his gaze darted around the room. The last thing he remembered was sneaking out of the orphanage intent on going to Debbie Hargrave's Halloween party. 

He noted that he seemed to be laying on something hard in someone’s rather cozy kitchen, if the refrigerator and stove, and all the pictures on the wall were anything to go on. He tried to think back to remember anything that would clue him in on where he was, how he had gotten here. 

The old lady... He tried to gasp in a shocked breath, but was unable to. Something was wrong with his body, so wrong that all he could do was take shallow breaths and his limbs were too heavy, maybe completely paralyzed. Fear swamped him, his heart kicking up a notch despite his inability to take in deeper breaths. 

A sudden shot of cool air came into the room, followed by the sound of someone moving around. He felt goose bumps rising on his flesh and was alerted to the fact that he was naked. 

“Here we are,” came the old woman’s crooning voice. She appeared at his side a moment later. “New clothes for you,” she announced with a wide smile. “Oh don’t worry, I’m going to take care of you from now on, mother’s good little doll.” 

* * *

[Mid-December]

“Christmas, my ass. Dude, it’s 80 degrees out there, there’s no freaking snow, no reindeers, nothing, and you’re charging extra for rooms cause we’re in Christmas, Florida? That makes no sense,” Dean fumed.

The guy at reception didn’t look bothered. “Look, folks like to stay in Christmas, on Christmas, because it sounds Christmassy...”

“It may sound it, it doesn’t look it!” Dean grit his teeth.

“Pretend the rate hike’s because of a conference.”

“This is a motel... I can’t pretend it’s because of a conference. How much extra per night? Twenty?” Grumbling, Dean handed the guy his credit card.

“Ronald Scrooge? Suits ya,” the receptionist said.

Dean made a face. “I expect your _best_ room.”

The man pushed the room key card across the table. “Room 25. As in Christm...”

Rolling his eyes, Dean shot out the door.

*

Two days later, Dean was searching the grounds around a ramshackle cabin in the middle of the swamps. Six boys and two girls had gone missing, all of them in their late teens and in good health. In some cases, syringes had been found at the last place the victims had been seen, and the drug in the syringe was something occult stores sold under the table. So Bobby had called him.

Dean had been planning to hole up in a motel conveniently located near some bars, and drink himself stupid until the season was over. He hated the season. It reminded him of the father who was never around to celebrate it properly, and of the mother he’d lost. He had very few memories of her, but the one that was strongest was of the time she put an angel ornament on their tree and said it would protect Dean. Turned out she’d been the one needing the protecting.

And now, instead of finding a way to forget about Christmas, he was drowning in it. The town. The Xmas Elves Motel. Even his frigging room number.

Maybe he’d get lucky and find whatever the hell it was that was taking kids. Nail it, and get the hell out of this town. But first, he had to get out of this swamp. Who in their right mind would choose to live here?  
There was no vehicle in front of the cabin, but he checked out the tire marks in the mud, and it was a match. He’d seen the police records and knew similar tracks had been at a few of the sites of the disappearances. He’d tracked down the shops that might sell the drug, and had gotten information about the buyer. He’d been told she was a frail old lady, but he didn’t think anyone as frail as they were describing could cart off so many men in their prime. The drug might make it easier but it would still take a lot of strength. Strength she might have if she wasn’t just a ‘fragile’ old lady, but was something else.

He walked around the cabin, his foot falls silenced by the moss on the ground. The windows had a thick layer of dirt on them, so he could barely see through them. Sliding his denim covered forearm over the window to clean it, he put his hands against the class and peered inside again.

* 

For nearly the hundredth time, Sam was posed sitting at a child’s table that was much too small for his large frame, but the old woman had crammed his body up against it despite the way his knees had gotten banged around in the process. Oddly enough, she acted as if she didn’t know she was hurting him.

He’d been like this from the first day he’d been brought here. Unable to speak or move, his face as paralyzed as the rest of his body, unable and forbidden to show any kind of emotion. He’d shed a tear or two in the early days, but that had only made her angry, her fingers roughly pulling his lips into a smile as she ranted at him. So he’d learned his lesson about showing any kind of real emotion, even when he could. 

He knew that he likely looked ridiculous in the little lederhosen she’d dressed him in, complete with painting rouge on his cheeks and fake little freckle marks along his nose and cheekbones. One of his arms was propped up on the table, the one with the IV needle in it. She had bent his fingers around the handle of a pink rose patterned china cup. Across from him sat another boy, similarly posed. Sam wasn’t sure that the boy wasn’t already dead. There had been more of them before. 

_Please, somebody help me,_ he cried out in his mind. It never did any good.

After he’d wiped more dirt off the window, Dean was finally able to see inside. There was a table and two people, so he moved out of sight, then slowly started to look again. It was two guys and they weren’t moving. Two young guys, teenagers, like the kids that had been taken.

Straightening, Dean walked around to another window. After he was sure no one else was in the living room, he headed to the front door and quickly picked the lock. 

Slowly turning the handle, he opened it and walked inside. The floorboards creaked under his feet and he reached for the gun at his back, then called out. “Hey.” When neither of the two guys moved, he started to search around the room, figuring they were afraid of someone or something in there with them. 

There were large pieces of furniture. He walked around them, then slowly circled the room and reached the table. “What the....” Seeing the small tea cups in the hands of the two large guys, he gave a snort. “You’d look better with a mug of strong German beer,” he said pointing at the first wax doll, “and you’d be better in … not gonna say it... Santa’s workshop.”

He pushed the doll with the lederhosen back, and looked into its face, his brow wrinkling at the resemblance between the doll and one of the missing kids. “You some kind of knock off …?”

If Sam had been able to, he would have thrown his arms around this guy that stood in front of him. He was the first person that Sam had seen since he’d been brought here days, weeks, months ago, he wasn’t sure which. That thought had him worried about the old woman returning and this guy winding up in the same predicament as he was in. He struggled to make a sound, to scream, to move a hand, a finger, hell to blink, but nothing happened. In his frustration tears beaded up in his eyes. 

Dean grabbed the doll’s chin. “Not bad work, I mean if you’re looney and want a gigantor doll to have tea with. Now... where’s the _real_ you?” He released the doll and turned his head toward a closed door.

Sam started to panic, his shallow breaths coming faster. He focused on moving, anything, just so the guy would know that he was the real Sam. 

_Please don’t leave me here,_ he screamed pleadingly in his mind. 

His fear must have triggered enough adrenaline to do it, that or else his damn IV bag was getting close to empty, but Sam managed to move his leg. It was a jerky movement at best, but he managed to knock over the small side table that had the teapot that matched the tea cups he and his partner across the table were daintily clutching. 

Dean jerked around, his gun pointing in the direction of the smashed porcelain. He saw the dolls leg was next to the leg of the upended table. As he raised his eyes, he noticed the tubes leading to the doll’s arm.

It wasn’t easy to creep him out, but this definitely did it as he realized this was no doll. Pulling the guy’s sleeve up, he tugged the IV out and dropped it to the floor, mumbling “Sorry. It’s gonna.... everything’s gonna be alright.” Turning to the other guy, Dean started to pull his IV out when he recognized the faint scent of decay. The stuff pumping through him might be covering it up, but the guy was dead.

Just to be certain, Dean felt the guy’s neck for a pulse. Finding none, he went back to the first guy, and put his fingers on the side of his throat. Nothing. “But you moved...” he said, searching the guy’s eyes for any sign of life. 

“Or maybe not. Rigor mortis...” he muttered, and started to pull away. Something stopped him. Something in the guy’s eyes. “Blink if you’re in there,” he said. A moment later, he gave a self-conscious laugh. There was no one in there. This guy was probably dead too.


	3. Chapter 3

Eyeing the dark haired kid on more time, Dean walked across the room to the door between the living room and the small hallway. Turning the door know, he pulled it open. It was a dark and musty, with narrow stairs probably leading to a basement. After taking a single step, he stopped and made a face. The smell of death was strong.   
He found the light switch and turned it on, prepared to go down, though he knew what he’d find, when the sound of the front door opening had him back out to the living room. 

“Hands up. I said put your fucking hands up,” he shouted, aiming his handgun at her chest. All he saw was an old woman. That’s all his eyes saw, but his gut told him this loon was not of the human variety.

“You’re a little old to make a good playmate for the others,” she said, walking towards him like she didn’t even see the gun, or wasn’t afraid of it.

“Listen, lady...”

“But I think I can work with you. Pull your skin back a little, pin it behind your ear, yes...”

“That’s it, stop.” When she took another step toward him, Dean fired, and when she didn’t stop, kept firing. “Sonova...” he started racing toward her when she shifted. He saw the mouth full of razor sharp teeth, the black-rimmed, hallow eye sockets and the sharply clawed hands reaching for him and quickly slammed his forearm across her face. 

The heavy blow should have sent her to the ground. Instead, she just cracked her neck to the side and started to advance towards him again. Dean shot her point blank in the face, bought himself a few seconds, and kicked her in the stomach. 

She staggered, made an inhuman sound, and right before she lunged toward him, they heard the sound of sirens. “He’s mine.” She pointed at the motionless dark-haired doll at the table. “You go free,” she shouted her offer.

Dean cocked his head to the side, and then had to cover his ears when she gave a high pitched screech.

“Mine… he’s mine. I made him.”

So maybe the guy wasn’t dead, Dean thought. He ran for the table before she did, bent down, and picked the guy up, groaning under his weight. Hearing her scurry after them, he turned sharply, using the kid’s stiff-as-wood legs as a weapon, slamming them against her.

This time, she fell to the ground. As she scrambled up, Dean tried to kick her, but she crawled away. Reaching up to a table, she grabbed a lit hurricane lamp, and threw it on the floor.

The fire spread quickly. Dean scrambled to get out, pulling the front door shut behind him. He wanted her to burn to her death, but in his heart, he knew she wouldn’t have set the place on fire while she was down, if she didn’t have some sort of out. It was never that easy.

Dumping the inconveniently too-tall kid into the back seat of the Impala, Dean found that leaving him in a sitting position was easier. Slamming the door shut, he slid into the driver’s seat and took off, using the back roads to avoid the cops. If they caught him, they’d probably nail all the missing... make that dead… kids, on him.

Occasionally, he looked into the rear view mirror. The guy was sitting ram-rod straight, his face completely free of expression and color, other than the thickly painted on makeup that gave him a plastic look. Meeting his gaze in the mirror, Dean just knew, no one could really be in there. No way.

So why had he bothered to take him out of the cabin? 

Seeing an animal scurry across the road, he slammed the brakes on, but it was too late. “It’s a goner. So are you,” he said out loud, trying to convince himself it was best that he get rid of any notions of being able to bring this guy back.   
* 

Sam’s heart had see-sawed from the moment this man had come into the cabin. He’d been flooded with hope when the man first came into the cabin, but then he’d panicked when the guy walked away and left him for dead. It had soared again when the man came back and actually grabbed him from that hell. Sam wanted to save all of the other kids he’d seen, but the man was probably right, the kid that had been sitting across from him was already dead, and the old woman had brought him to replace others that had died.

In the car, he kept trying to move. With the IV out of his arm, he should be regaining the ability to move, shouldn’t he? 

_’Unless it’s already too late,’_ a voice in his head suggested. 

Sam wanted to shout at that voice, to tell it ‘no,’ that it couldn’t be too late. To tell the man driving him out of hell that he was _not_ a goner, that he would live, that he wasn’t going out like this. He didn’t want to die, and he didn’t want to go through life unable to speak or move. Tears pooled in his eyes and one slipped free to slowly slip down his cheek.   
*

When Dean finally pulled into the parking lot of the motel, he cursed. There were lots of people around.

Getting out of the car, he went to the back and pulled the guy out, lifting him into his arms, this time like a bride-carry instead of a fireman’s carry. “Come on, Goner, let’s get you inside.”

He noticed the stares and tried to play it cool. “Just married,” he called out, pasting a fake smile on his face and muttering under his breath, “Just hope no one thinks I’m bringing a blow up doll home.”

The entire way to his motel room door, Dean complained under his breath about his ‘bride’s’ height and weight, and he couldn’t be more glad than when he finally got inside and set the guy down on a chair. “These clothes...” he made a face, then saw something glittering on the guy’s cheek. 

Reaching out, Dean touched it and felt the wetness.

He looked toward the window. Was it drizzling? He hadn’t noticed. Dropping down in front of the guy, this time, his voice was a lot softer, like he was speaking to a human being. “Are you in there, Goner? I can’t....” The longer he stared at the guy, the more Dean wanted it to be true. 

_Yes! Yes, I’m here! Oh God, don’t leave me!_ Sam mentally screamed as loud as he could inside his head, unable to make his body respond to the man’s question. He struggled, fought so hard that he was sure he should be shaking all over, but he knew that he wasn’t. Finally he managed to make the tiniest whimper of sound, though he was uncertain whether the guy could even hear it, or even whether it was just in his own head. 

Dean let out a breath. He could have imagined it. 

Standing up, he moved across the room and called Bobby to tell him what he’d seen in the cabin, and what he’d taken. Bobby promised to research what the woman might be and agreed that if she’d pumped the kid up with the drug for days on end, he was probably just hanging on the verge of death. Hospitals couldn’t help him. The drug was based on voodoo magic, and it would fight anything that was ingested for the purpose of killing the active ingredient in it. The battle between the drugs would kill the kid, if he wasn’t already dead.

“So I’ll drop him off at your place and...”

“I’ve got plans for Christmas. You don’t. You keep him.”

Dean looked at his phone. Bobby had just hung up on him. He looked over at the guy. “I guess it’s just you and me, then.” 

Sam would have blown out a breath in relief if he could of. As it was, the only reaction his body seemed to be capable of was to sting his eyes and tear up. 

Dean paced around a little, then walked to the bathroom and started to run the water. When he came back, he bent down in front of the kid and pulled his shoes off, then his knee high socks. “If you’re staying in my room, we’re washing this … I dunno, formaldehyde smell off ya, and getting rid of these ridiculous clothes. As he unbuttoned the front of the guy’s suede get-up, he felt a splash of hot liquid on the back of his hand.

His gaze immediately cut to the kid’s. The guy’s eyes were brimming with tears. “You _are_ in there,” he said, using his thumb to brush away the new tear forming in the corner of Goner’s eye. “I gotcha.... I gotcha now,” he promised softly, nodding at him.

Something twisted in Dean’s gut. The knowledge that he would fail. That Goner would end up six feet under, because there was nothing Dean could do to help him. Maybe it would be better to put a bullet into his head right now. But looking into those soft eyes, he just knew he’d never be able to pull the trigger, even if the kid was going to suffer until he died.

Sam would have wept when he realized the guy understood, that he knew, that he realized he was alive. The relief had him not even thinking about the fact that the guy was slowly undressing him. First his shoes, then those stupid ass socks, then the short bib things that the bitch had put on him, followed by the white short-sleeve button down shirt. When he heard the material rip, he wished he could cheer. 

Once he was naked, except for the baggy white boxers shorts the old woman had put on him, the man lifted him out of the chair and carried him into the bathroom. Sam was a bit confused until he heard the water running into the tub. A part of him wasn’t happy about the idea of some strange guy bathing him, but he was too relieved to be out of the hell he’d been trapped in to care too awful much. 

Dean tested the water, then slowly lowered the guy into it. He left the guy’s shorts on for now, knowing if the kid was aware of what was happening, there was a good chance he’d think he’d escaped a crazed old woman only to fall into the clutches of some molester. “Just getting you clean,” he said. “Maybe the heat will help get some circulation back into your body. To tell the truth, I don’t have a clue what I’m doing.” He scooted to the other end of the bath to turn the faucet off.

Sam wished he could close his eyes as the warm water lapped closed around him. His breath shuddered softly out of him, though it was so faint and quiet he doubted that the man would have noticed the change. Fear gripped him a little when the man confessed that he had no idea what he was doing but Sam was certain that despite that, he would be fine. All he needed was time for whatever that crap the old lady had been feeding them through the IVs to wear off. He had to believe it, the alternative was not something he wanted to think about. 

At a bit of a loss, Dean stared at the guy for a long time, until he finally announced, “Can’t be harder than washing a baby, right? Not that I’ve done that either...” He grabbed a washcloth off the bathroom counter, wet it and lathered it up with soap. Then he started to wash the kid, starting at his neck, and moving down. 

The guy’s body was stiff, but he found that if he moved his limbs, they stayed put. “It’s like having my own personal Barbie. Only without the boobs.” He started to laugh at his own joke, but the lack of response from the kid kind of cut his enjoyment short. “I know you probably can’t hear me. I just... I feel stupid doing this, and I gotta talk it out...” And now he was explaining himself to a guy in a waking-coma. 

Sam would have frowned at the guy’s bad joke, but of course his face muscles weren’t moving. As the man began to scrub his skin clean, Sam felt his body react, nipples pebbling as goose bumps broke out across his flesh. He wanted to shout with joy, though he supposed that truthfully it wasn’t that much of a huge deal since he could remember sweating in that furnace of a house the old lady owned. 

It was a little while before Dean noticed. “Are you cold?” The water felt lukewarm, so he started to add a little hot water and got back to washing the guy’s chest, and arms and legs. 

At first, he kept up a light chatter, making some jokes which might have been annoying if the kid could hear him. Then he started to notice things about the guy, which he had no business noticing. The guy was lean, his skin stretched tight over muscles that in a few years would be the envy of his classmates. 

When he lifted the guy up a little and started to wash his abs, Dean felt his body react and immediately dropped the guy back down into the water. His glance dropped to the guy’s shorts. Yeah, he’d planned on washing him there too but now...

Indecision warred inside him. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and shoved his hand into the guy’s shorts, briskly rubbing the bar of soap over him. _Not enjoying. Not enjoying. Not enjoying._ It was over in a matter of one minute, and he lifted the guy up and gave the same treatment to his ass.

Only when he put the bar of soap down, did he release his breath. “Now let’s get this crap off your face. I swear you look like a ventriloquist's dummy.” 

Sam had just stopped panicking as the guy withdrew his hand from his shorts without doing something creepy, like feeling him up, when the guy shot off his remark. Sam could almost feel a scowl forming, though he knew it was all in his imagination, his body was immobile. 

He tried to close his eyes when he felt the washcloth lift to his face, but doubted his eyelids had moved at all. His lax muscles and loss of movement left him only able to stare at the man as he gently washed his face. Sam wanted to say ‘thank you,’ to ask how he’d managed to find him, but he couldn’t speak a word of it. Was the man a cop? If so then why hadn’t he taken him to the hospital, surely they would be better able to care for him, even as much as Sam disliked the places, they would know what to give him possibly to counteract whatever it was that the old woman had given him...wouldn’t they?

“What is this shit? Wax?” Dipping the towel repeatedly into the water, Dean kept wiping at the gunk. Everywhere he managed to get the stuff off, the guy’s skin was slightly red. He wasn’t sure whether it was from the rubbing or a reaction to what she’d put on him. 

“Freckles... who the hell would add them on purpose?” he demanded. He was a lot gentler around the guy’s eyes. Their eyes met, and this time, he felt some sort of connection. Which, yeah... he had to be totally imagining. 

Still. Something had changed. Whether it was the splash of the guy’s tears on his hand earlier, or this strange feeling he was getting now, everything had changed.

“Know what? You’re name’s not Goner. It’s Pinocchio... hold on, I know you think it’s a bad idea, but hear me out here. Wooden guy... comes to life... see where I’m going with this? Yeah... I knew you’d _love_ the idea.”

Giving a triumphant smile, Dean stood up to get the shower head. It was on a handle, which he pulled down. Testing the water, he ran it over the guy’s hair, wetting it, before he started to shampoo him. 

_Pinocchio, great..._ Sam thought disgruntledly. He would have heaved a sigh of annoyance if he’d been able to. 

The warm water rushing over his head felt so good that if he could, he would have allowed his eyes to slip closed on a soft sigh as he relished himself to the wonderful feelings. But that was not in the cards for him, at least not tonight. A stray fear wiggled its way into his subconscious that maybe he never would be able to perform simple movements like that again. 

_Please don’t let me die,_ he mentally pleaded as he stared at the stranger’s face. 

“Hope you don’t think I’m gonna blow dry your hair,” Dean said, his gaze meeting the guy’s. “Even if you do have great hair,” he added, with a smile. Then he rolled his eyes at himself. “Good thing you can’t really hear any of this...” 

With one hand, he blocked the guy’s eyes as he ran the water over his head, getting rid of the shampoo. Then he used a towel to dry out his face, careful not to get his eyes. “There. Now you pass the ‘sniff’ test,” he said, giving an exaggerated sniff. 

Straightening, he pointed at the guy. “Don’t go anywhere.” Then he walked out of the bathroom. The soak might do the guy some good, and he wanted to get some extra towels.

 _Great hair?_ Sam would have blinked stupidly at the man, if he’d been able to. But seeing him walk out, he started to panic. _Don’t leave me! Please don’t leave me!_ he mentally screamed. 

*

A good fifteen minutes later, Dean returned with extra towels. Setting them down, he looked at the guy trying to decide how to pull him out of the tub without flooding the room.

He flipped the lever in the tub, to open the drain, then stood there making light conversation and feeling very foolish. Finally, he leaned over and hauled the guy out of the tub. There was no way around it, everywhere the guy’s body pressed against him, his clothes were drenched. “You couldn’t be a little guy... like that other guy. No, I have to get a gigantor for a toy,” he grumbled.

Somehow, he managed to get the kid to a chair. He’d put opened up a couple towels on the seat and on the back of the chair, which he now wrapped around the guy. Then he got another towel from the bathroom and started to dry him up. “I have bad news. I burned your old clothes. You can sue me later.”

When he was done with the guy’s body, he towel dried his hair. As he finger combed it, he created a mohawk, then messed it up, then straightened it. “Okay ‘hair-styles-Pinocchio,’ it’s time to...” he waved in the general direction of the guy’s lap, which was covered up with a now wet towel. 

Sam’s relief at no longer being left alone was so immense that he didn’t even mind the things that the guy muttered at him in aggravation, or the fun he was having at his expense. _Time to? Time to what?_ , he wondered.

Kneeling in front of the chair, Dean reached under the towel and closed his fingers around the guy’s soaking wet shorts. “Out with the old, in with the new, it’s Christmas and all that.” He rambled on as he worked the shorts down and managed to pull them off. He tossed the wet material halfway across the room, cursing when instead of landing in the waste paper basket, it hung off its side.

Next, Dean lifted the guy’s legs, threading them one at a time through the leg holes of a fresh pair of shorts. “Sorry I don’t have anything with polka dots, or stripes.” The idle chatter helped keep his mind off what he was doing, and how strange it was, or what it might look like to someone else. Or that sometime between, getting the guy in his room and drying him off, he’d started to notice the guy. Really notice him. In a way he didn’t want to, and shouldn’t be anyway, considering the guy was Goddamned Pinocchio.

Dean’s face pressed into the guy’s chest as he lifted him, to get the underwear up. Then he rocked back and blew out a deep breath. “I tell ya, dress-up-Barbie? Not as fun in real life.”

Eventually he got the guy into a light pair of sweats and sat him in front of the T.V. “This channel okay?” he asked, searching the guy’s expression-free face. “Alright... I’ll be back.”

Sam wanted to scream ‘no,’ to make the guy stay with him. He knew he was being childish and stupid, but he couldn’t help it, he was afraid and that fear wasn’t going anywhere fast. He managed to make his eyes move which was an improvement from even hours ago, when all he’d been able to do was sit there like some kind of wax figurine. As he tracked the guy’s movements, watching him crossed the room to grab his jacket and walk to the table to get his wallet, Sam’s panic built. And then the guy was out the door, and Sam was all alone. 

*

An hour later, Dean entered the motel room. “Honey, I’m home,” he announced. Kicking the door shut, he added, “Don’t get your hopes high. That was for the neighbor who thinks we just got married.”

Setting his bags down, he started to rummage through them, taking some things out. Grabbing a can, he popped it open. “Green tea... antioxidant,” he said. “I know, I’m way out of my league trying to cure you, but you gotta drink anyway, right?” Though he knew the creature which had taken the kid had to have given him nourishment through the IV, he had no idea whether the guy could drink. 

Dean filled a small turkey baster he’d bought, then pulled a chair up in front of the guy. “I’m just gonna wet your mouth with this. I don’t know if you can swallow, but if you give me a sign that you want more... Okay, open your mouth.”

Course the guy didn’t respond. Dean pressed two fingers into the corners of the guy’s mouth, opening it slightly and slipping the end of the turkey baster in. He allowed a little of the liquid to drop into the guy’s mouth, then pulled it out. A little of the liquid dribbled down the side of his face and Dean wiped it away as he searched the guy’s face for any signs of anything at all.

Sam couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a drink. Maybe at the orphanage right before he’d snuck out and wound up getting captured. It upset and frightened him that it was likely no one had even noticed he was gone and he had no loving family out there somewhere searching for him. He could have died at that bitch’s hands and no one would have even cared. 

Tears stung his eye. He wished someone would close them for him. It was the one thing that the woman did do for them, for him and the other kids she kidnapped. Every few hours, she would put drops into their eyes, to sooth them. And when she turned off the lights, she would close their eyes for them.

Sam could feel the warm wetness of a tear slipping down his cheek and he wished he could wipe it away so that the man sitting in front of it wouldn’t see just how scared and lost he really was. 

“Hey... hey.” Dean didn’t know what to say. But he knew now for sure that there was someone in there, that this guy wasn’t brain dead or in a waking coma. “I’ll get you through this, alright? I know you can hear me.” He wiped the tears away. “And I know you would rather I was your mom or dad, or girlfriend or whatever. I’d call them, but they’d want to put you in a hospital and that wouldn’t be good. What she pumped into you, it’s more than a drug. It’s complicated.” Okay sure, the guy could cry tears. It didn’t mean he understood everything. A softer voice whispered to Dean, that it didn’t mean the guy _couldn’t_ understand.

“Let’s try a little more of the drink,” he said, and gave the guy some more green tea, just enough that he wouldn’t choke on whatever slipped down his throat. 

By the time he looked back up, another tear was sliding down the guy’s cheek. Dean felt something wrench inside him. All the lessons about not getting too involved with victims, about not getting invested in their well-being, suddenly went out the window. He leaned in and pulled the kid into his arms in a hug and just held him there. 

Eventually, Dean found himself stroking the guy’s back and patting it. “I know what you’re thinking. That I’m so not good at this ‘comfort’ thing. But trust me, someone like Bobby would be worse at it.” A few minutes later, he added, “Or you could be wishing you could kick my ass for this. Why don’t you just pretend I’m someone else. Whoever you want me to be,” he suggested, his voice low, and a little husky with emotion, even though he was kicking himself for being a sap.

Sam mentally closed his eyes and allowed himself to pretend that the hug was more than a simple act of comfort, that this man was showing him real affection, the sort that was usually exchanged by friends and family hugging. For the moment, he basked it in. 

 

*

Dean had eaten dinner, and kept giving Sam the green tea. He’d looked up the names of the kids that had been abducted and learned that this was Sam. And he’d stopped calling him made-up names.

Course now, he really had to make sure the guy pulled through. Otherwise, Sam would forever haunt his dreams as the guy he let down. 

It was past midnight when he laid Sam on the bed. He’d had to move Sam’s limbs for him, force them a little until they straightened. The entire time, he’d doubted himself. Maybe it was better to leave Sam sitting. He just couldn’t be sure.

Once he had him in bed, Dean leaned over him and put some drops in his eyes. They were for people with dry eyes. “I’m gonna... I’m gonna try to close your eyes. I don’t know what keeping them open like this will do. They tape eyes down in surgeries,” he said, “And what she was pumping into you... it’s not there anymore so … yeah.” 

Sam wanted to nervously bite at his lip when he felt Dean’s fingertips gently push his eyelids closed, and, when they stayed closed, he would have let out a breath of relief. He felt better, just until fears began to cloud his mind and he started to panic. 

What if this guy closed his eyes and then just left him here? He didn’t want to be alone. He was terrified over what was happening to him. He struggled to reopen his eyes but nothing happened. He fought to form a word, to speak, to beg this man not to leave him. His heart started to hammer a little faster as he managed to whimper softly. Maybe...could it be possible that he was getting better? 

“Did you...?” Dean had his face in Sam’s. “Sam... I heard you. I heard you, Sam,” he said. He slowly moved his hand over Sam’s face, to his throat, trying to see if he could feel any fluttering of lashes or find his pulse. It was faint, but Dean thought it was stronger than when they’d been at the cabin. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what you want or need, or if you’re in pain. Can you make the noise again?” he asked, holding his breath. 

Sam wanted to scream in frustration but instead concentrated that energy into making a sound, any sound. It took him a long time, so long he was afraid maybe the man would leave the room, leave him there alone and maybe it was that thought, that fear, which pushed the whisper soft whimper from his paralyzed throat. 

“Okay.... okay.” Dean smiled and put his hand on Sam’s shoulder, squeezing it. “Now we’re getting somewhere. “Do you want me to open your eyes? Make the sound if that’s what you want,” he said. “I’ll give you a couple minutes.”

Sam wanted to shake his head, wanted to reach up and grab the hand that was grasping his shoulder, wanted to tell him not to leave him, but he could do none of that. He was lift simply laying there helpless to ask for what he needed. 

“Okay. Do you want move of the green tea?” Dean asked. 

A frustrated softly whimper left Sam’s throat and his brow creased just slightly though the effort it took to do so was wearing him out fast. If he could, he would have been panting with exhaustion. 

Immediately, Dean let go of Sam’s shoulder and brought the tip of the baster to his mouth, letting him have a little more liquid. He kept giving Sam a couple of minutes and then putting a little more of the tea in his mouth, though he wasn’t sure about how much the guy was actually getting because a lot of it dribbled out of his mouth.

Finally, he put the baster down. “Do you need anything else? If you make a sound, I can keep guessing at it.” He really wasn’t patient, but he tried to hide his frustration. It had to be a thousand times worse for Sam.

The stupid tea was the last thing that Sam wanted at the moment despite how good the coolness of it felt against his parched throat. He would have choked a couple of times with the way it slid down, tickling against dried tissues but he hadn’t even been able to do that let alone express himself and saying what he really needed, wanted. 

Sam tried to lift a hand, to grab hold of the other guy but wasn’t able to move.

Hearing no sound, Dean gave a nod. “Okay, I’m gonna let you get some rest. Sleep, and maybe tomorrow you’ll be...” he gave a shrug and started to pull away and straighten. 

In his panic, Sam managed to part his lips and a strangled sound broke from his throat, his mind screaming fearfully. _’Don’t leave me!’_

Dean grabbed Sam’s shoulder again and leaned in. “It’s alright. I know it’s frustrating, you can’t tell me what you want and I... Look, you need rest. We’ll try again in the morning.” Just as he started to pull his hand away, another thought struck him. “You’re afraid?”

Sam would have slumped against the mattress with relief if he could have. He tried to nod his head, but he wasn’t totally certain how well he was doing since the guy wasn’t rattling on like he usually did whenever he managed to do something as small as the gestures were. His brow moved into the whisper soft slight crease again and a small tiny sound broke from his throat, somewhere between a whimper and a sandpapery breath. 

“Okay. I get it. But you don’t have to be. I’m here and so is my glock. No one’s gonna get to you, you’re safe now,” he promised, squeezing Sam’s shoulder again. “I was gonna sleep on the chair but... Do you want me to sleep on the bed with you?” he asked.

That thought, of the stranger sleeping next to him, would have had Sam stiffening, though in reality, he wasn’t sure how much stiffer he could be. He wanted to swallow hard as his mind raced. The guy hadn’t done anything to him thus far, maybe it would be alright if he did sleep in the bed next to him. 

Dean took Sam’s hand. “I didn’t hear a yes, so I’m just gonna sit on a chair okay? Real close, so I can hear you if you make a sound.” He squeezed Sam’s hand and smiled. “I think your hand feels warmer.”

Sam wasn’t totally sure how he was supposed to feel about that idea, about the guy not sleeping with him. Should he be relieved or not? The man’s words, however, helped him feel a little bit better and he tried to get his body to relax enough to sleep. 

“G’nite, Sam.” Pulling a chair close, Dean took Sam’s hand again, thinking that if he was stuck all alone in his body, with no way to communicate or know what was going on around him, he would want some way of knowing someone was close by.


	4. Chapter 4

Dean slowly came awake with the morning light. His body ached from sleeping sitting up on the chair. Rubbing his neck and trying to get the crick out, he opened his eyes to find himself staring into Sam’s open eyes. 

Licking his lips, Dean asked softly, “Are you awake? Or are your eyes just misbehavin’?”

Waking from the sound, Sam figured out that he must have been asleep when his eyes slid open. It took a second for him to realize that he’d moved his eyelids all on his own. 

He stared at the guy who had rescued him, taking in the smattering of freckles along the bridge of his nose and across his cheekbones. He also noted that the guy’s nose was just slightly crooked, likely from being broke one too many times. His lashes were long and dark, though his hair was a much lighter sandy brown. 

Wondering whether he was blushing at having been caught staring, Sam struggled to move his lips, to form words. “Ahh...wh...ake...,” he managed to breathe the words, soft and slightly jumbled. 

Dean immediately sat up straight. “Sonova... you’re … forget _awake_ , you’re _alive!_ ” Grinning, he nodded. “Mornin’. So, coffee, tea or me?” He stood up, “It had to be said,” he shrugged off his own dumb joke. “Can you move anything?”

The tip of Sam’s tongue darted out just marginally to tease at the center of his bottom lip. He lowered his gaze to try and look down before lifting it once more to Dean. “Nnnnot...ma..utch...” he pushed the words past his lips, though the effort was taxing. 

“It’ll come. And the tongue is an important organ. You need it to talk and to do other, more interesting things.” Chuckling, Dean added, “Which you probably don’t know about, only being eighteen and all.” Mostly, he said Sam’s age just as a reminder to himself not to have any ‘out of line’ thoughts about the kid. 

Sam allowed his eyes to close since he couldn’t dip his head in an attempt to hide his embarrassment. His lashes fluttered a moment before his eyes opened again and he’d started to panic thinking that he’d re-lost the ability. When he’d been asleep, it had been a reflexive gesture, but now, maybe he was trying too hard. 

“Bet you’re parched.” Dean took the baster and went to the table in the kitchenette area to get more of the green tea from the fridge. When he returned, he offered the tip of the baster to Sam. 

Sam took the baster between his lips and worked at sucking small mounts out. It was a chore and his jaw ached from use after so long without moving at all, but at least he was managing. 

“We can try drinking with a straw next. I’ll go out and get us some food. If you can’t swallow, I was thinking we hook you up to an IV, and I know you’re gonna hate the idea, but it’ll keep you hydrated and get you the nutrition you need.” 

Panic surged through Sam at the idea of Dean leaving him and his hand shifted, the movement jerky, but there. His fingertips caught in the material of the guy’s tee as his wide, fearful eyes met Dean’s. Tears pooled in his eyes and he tried to speak around the baster, tea dripping down his chin. “D-don’t la-eve...me...”

“Sam, I’m not.. I’m just gonna go out and get stuff. Straws... you know?” His words seemed to have no effect, he saw only pure panic in Sam’s eyes. At least it was an emotion, but it was also an emotion he knew too well. “Alright. I’ll … I’ll spring for room service. This place has a deal with the diner across the street.” He gave Sam more of the tea, until he could see that Sam didn’t want anymore.

“Let’s get you to sit up. If you need to piss or anything, let me know.” He didn’t know if Sam had enough liquid in him yet. 

“No,” Sam retorted. “Pa-please...don’t want...to...sit...” he argued gently. “Been...sitt-ing...for...” his slightly garbled words trailed off. “What...da-ay...is...it?” 

“Tue... oh, it’s December six... no, seventeen.” Dean just fluffed the pillow up and added one under Sam’s head, so he was slightly reclining instead of sitting. “You’ve been missing for nearly two months. Do you want me to put the news on?”

Sam stared incredulously at Dean, his eyes wide at the news that it had been that long, although in some respects, it had felt even longer. He lowered his gaze. “No,” he mumbled softly, dejectedly. 

“You didn’t realize.” Dean squeezed Sam’s shoulder. “Look, the important thing is you’re safe, and you’re free, right? What happened to you is, it’s all sorts of messed up. Not gonna lie to you, I doubt you’re ever going to forget about it. But it will get better, I promise. Look at me.” When Sam’s eyes lifted, he gave a small smile. “You’re gonna make it.”

“No...no one even...care-ed I was...gone...” Sam retorted softly. 

“You don’t know that,” Dean answered, though he’d read that Sam had been in foster care and at some orphanage. He closed his hand around Sam’s chin and lifted his face. “Foster parents... people you met, a teacher... someone cared, Sam. Someone cared.”

Sam’s eyes met Dean’s briefly before lowering sadly once again. “Did...didn’t have...foster..par...parents...” he forced out. “No...no one...” 

“Friends, then,” Dean said. “Okay.” Seeing the pained look in Sam’s eyes, Dean decided to drop it. “You wanna... you wanna talk about it. What happened? I’m all ears,” he offered, both because the guy might need someone to listen, and because that thing was still out there somewhere, and Dean needed information to track its ass.

Sam slowly shook his head before swallowing hard and grimacing at the raw scratching feeling in his throat. “I...” he began, staring down at the blanket that covered his lower half. “I was going....to a Halloween party...” he explained. “And I...the lady...” he shook his head. “She seemed nice...needed help...” he lifted his gaze to Dean’s. “Next thing...I knew...I was laying on a table....in her...” he swallowed hard again. “In her kitchen, I think...” 

“You woke up on her table? You mean...” he ran his hand through his hair. “I assumed she kept you a prisoner and only recently did the whole...” he waved at Sam, “Tea-doll thing. I didn’t think it was possible.”

Sam slowly shook his head. “I dunno....couldn’t move...but...” his cheeks flushed a bright shade of crimson. “I was....mmm, naked...” he mumbled as he hung his head. 

Naked. Unable to move. And on a kitchen table. Dean knew what he’d be thinking. That the woman was about to carve him up like Thanksgiving turkey. “It’s like waking from a nightmare,” Dean said, nodding. “Go on.”

Sam shook his head. “I don’t...I don’t remember much else...just being there in that chair....for what felt like forever... until you came.”

“But you were conscious the whole time?” Dean asked. “Or...” Sometimes it was better not to ask a question, because he didn’t even want to imagine being paralyzed, unable to communicate, and at the mercy of a nut job. 

“Conscious?” Sam asked with a disgusted huff. “Yeah, I guess...if you can call that _hell_ conscious.” The words tumbled out, but seemed to drain all his strength. “Tired,” he sighed as his eyes slipped closed and his head rolled wearily to one side. 

Dean pulled the pillows down so that Sam wasn’t sleeping at too sharp an angle. “Sleep. This shit will wear off faster if you get some rest.”

Dean stayed close until he was sure that Sam was fully asleep. When he saw that Sam wasn’t stirring even when he made noise, Dean put the T.V. on low, left the remote on the bed next to Sam’s hand and grabbed his jacket. His plan was to be back before the guy woke, but just in case, he wanted to be sure the room wasn’t completely silent. If Sam had some of his motor skills back, he might be able to change the channels.

At the door, he looked back at Sam one more time. Then he pulled the door shut behind him.

* * * 

Less than two hours later, Dean returned to the room. He was pushing a lightweight wheel chair he’d picked up at a thrift store, and he had some bags of stuff on the seat and hanging off the push handles. 

Sam stirred finally at the sound of something crinkling, in his mind he saw the old woman walking toward him with a needle and thread in her hand and an old bag of buttons. His eyes widened as far as possible and a whimper lodged in his throat. The relief he felt at her having picked the other boy who sat across the table from him had Sam feeling guilty as he was forced to watch her lift him from his seat and lay him down on the slab. All of it was done with deceptive care before starting to sew a button right into the tender flesh of his bare stomach. 

He screamed in his mind as he watched, and in the waking land, that same scream echoed inside the motel room as Sam thrashed wildly against the pillow. 

“Sam. Sam!” Shoving the wheelchair into the kitchenette area, Dean rushed over to the bed and grabbed Sam’s shoulder. “Wake up. Sam, it’s only a dream,” he said, speaking sharply at first but then lowering his voice. “You’re safe pal. Safe with me,” he said. 

Sam’s eyes shot open and he stared up at Dean as though he’d never seen him before. “Where...” he began, paused, swallowed and grimaced. “Where am I?” 

“You’re at the Xmas Elves Motel, in Christmas.” Dean winced. “Crazy, right?” Pulling away so he wasn’t in Sam’s face, Dean went on. “You remember me? From yesterday and... earlier today?” 

Sam’s brow creased as his memory caught up and he finally nodded. “You’re the cop that saved me, right?” he rasped as his eyes followed the guy. 

“Half right. Guy that saved you. Not a cop,” Dean answered. “Want me to help you sit... hey, you’re talking a lot better. Look at you,” he said, grinning. Just last night, he’d been trying to talk himself into not getting too invested, since Sam was likely to kick the bucket. “Can you move anything?”

Sam’s brow furrowed even as he nodded and pressed his hands against the mattress as he pushed himself up into a sitting position, leaning back against the headboard. 

“If you’re not a cop, what are you?” he asked in puzzlement. 

“I... guess you might say I find missing persons.” It was true, and sometimes he even found them alive. Like Sam. “Do you think you’re up to swallowing? We should get some food into you.” 

Sam’s brow furrowed a moment before Dean explained what he was referring to, a soft blush staining his cheeks at the strange direction his mind had gone to with that particular question. He lowered his eyes as he nodded, staring at the green and blue patchwork blanket. “Yeah,” he murmured. “M’ actually pretty hungry,” he allowed. 

Dean raised a brow at Sam’s reaction, but gave a nod. “Lemme know if you need help getting to the bathroom. I got a wheelchair to help you get around for as long as you need. Toothbrush and some clothes. Whatever you need,” he said, walking back to the kitchen and taking some of the items out of the bags.. 

“Why?” Sam inquired. “I mean, if you’re not a cop...what are you a Private investigator or something?” he asked but shook his head to his own deduction. “I don’t know anyone that’d spend that kinda money just to find me...” 

“Oh yeah? What about Miss Marple? Or ah... Sherlock Holmes? Hardy Boys,” he said pointing at Sam when he found an example he liked. “People who do it for the heck of it. Now food... coming right up.”

Dean grabbed a couple of egg out of the egg carton, then put the rest into the small fridge. “Why don’t we start you off on some scrambled eggs?” he said, pouring some milk into a bowl, then using a fork to scramble the eggs with the milk. 

Sam frowned at the notion that someone like the Hardy boys really existed. “Doubtful,” he mumbled half under his breath as he sighed heavily. “Yeah, eggs sound good.” 

Dean had grabbed a bite when he was out, so he only made breakfast for Sam. Just as he was putting the eggs onto a plate, there was a knock on the door.

Automatically, he pulled a gun out the jacket he’d left on the back of a chair and held it behind his back as he slowly opened the door. Seeing a young girl and boy, he slowly set the gun down on the table hidden behind the door. “I think you’ve got the wrong room.”

“Oh no Sir. We’re here to invite you to the Santa’s parade,” the little girl answered. Looking past her and the boy that Dean gathered was her brother, Dean saw their parents watching from a distance.

“Not interested, but thanks.”

“Wait! It’s going to be going right by the motel,” she pointed at the street beyond the parking lot. “And there’ll be singing and hot chocolate.”

“And Elves,” the boy said.

“Elves.” Dean’s eyes shifted to the parents again. Now he saw the resemblance between the kids and a couple of the people running the reception desk. They were all related to the owner. “Christmas Elves...” he groaned. “Thanks again but no.”

As he closed the door, he heard the boy quickly shout out that the parade would start at seven.

When Dean met Sam’s eyes, he groaned. “No.”

“Please,” Sam murmured softly, beseechingly. He’d been so afraid when he’d seen Dean pull out the gun, wondering maybe the guy thought he needed it because the old woman was coming back from him. The hammering of his heart had slowed as he listened to the conversation and then a smile curved his lips at the idea of a Christmas parade. He’d never actually gotten to go to one before and this, well after everything that had happened to him, he sort of wanted to do all those things he had never gotten to before. “Please?”

“C’mon man... it’s gonna be all these little, little, tiny annoying kids, and curled up elf shoes, and _yo ho ho_ , when there’s nothing to _yo ho_ about. It’s a gimmick. Town’s called Christmas,” he kept his ranting up as he brought the plate and some ketchup over to the bed, petering off when he found himself staring into soft, hazel eyes brimming with hope and excitement, for the first time in twenty four hours. “Alright. But I _am not_ going to enjoy it,” he declared. 

Sam smirked at the guy and only nodded before turning his attention to his eggs and the rumble of his stomach. He devoured his food like he hadn’t eaten in months, but then he really hadn’t.  
* * *   
Even though it wasn’t bitterly cold, Dean bundled Sam up as if they were going out into the snow. Well if the people of Christmas, Florida, could pretend, so could they.

As Dean pushed the wheelchair across the parking lot to where people had already started to grab places on the sidewalk, Dean spoke. “If you get tired, you say something, alright? Just because you’re feeling a lot better doesn’t mean you should go pushing yourself.”

Sam nodded, a smile that seemed to have frozen on his features brightening his face and causing his dimples to show. “Okay, I won’t,” he responded though he was only half paying attention to the instructions as his wide eyes took in everything there was to see. 

A man and a woman, dressed as if they’d come out of some Dickens novel, approached them just as Dean was setting the brakes on the wheelchair.

“Season’s greeting and a very Merry Christmas to you.”

“Here it comes,” Dean predicted under his breath.

“We’re selling raffles to benefit the homeless. There are great prizes...”

“No thanks,” Dean bristled when they didn’t leave off and continued to go on about all the good the money they collected would do and how he should open his heart up this season. When he started to ignore them, they walked off. Only thing was, the wife’s huffed comment was loud and clear.

“What a cheapskate. I pity his husband. Did you notice he hasn’t even given that young boy a ring? Figures.”

Sam’s brow creased as he looked up at Dean. “Husband?” he inquired. A second later a bright blush flamed his cheeks as his eyes grew to the size of saucers. “They don’t mean....us...?” he stammered. 

“Yeah, they do.” Dean gave a self-conscious laugh. “I had to say something when I was carrying you into the room. Seemed funny at the time.” He squeezed Sam’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’ll give you a divorce. Annulment... not like we consummated or anything.” As Sam turned all shades of red, Dean barely held his laughter inside.

Sam quickly lowered his gaze and despite himself, his mind betrayed him, wondering exactly what it would be like to _consummate_ a union with this man. The way his lips would feel, the brush of his hand against his skin. He swallowed hard and tried to shake the notion out of his head. Of course, despite his virginity, he knew exactly how two guys would consummate a union. Knew it very well because he was gay, a fact that hadn’t made him overly popular at the orphanages he’d been in. 

“Didn’t mean to embarrass you. Okay, maybe I did,” Dean admitted. “How about I make it up to you with a hot chocolate. I feel it in my bones, they’re about to hit me up,” he said, eyeing the group pushing a cart with carafes on top of it, and passing out mugs of steaming drinks. 

Sam shyly looked up at Dean though he ducked his head marginally before nodding. “Yeah, a hot chocolate sounds good,” he allowed. He waited the span of a heartbeat before inquiring, “So, are you married for real?” 

“You’re kidding.” Dean gave Sam a look and shook his head. “Nah. It’s not for me. Why get stuck drinking the same milkshake every day when there are so many flavors out there? And look at all the flavors walking by,” he said, his eyes following a pair of hot looking guys. Course, the truth was, who the fuck would want to be stuck with him. He didn’t stay in one place. He had nothing to offer, but his hunters skills which, yeah... not worth shit to anyone. Sure he got a lot of tail, but definitely not the long term kind. 

Sam’s eyes widened a little as he watched Dean admire the two men. “So you...?” he started, only to allow his words to trail off as he swallowed hard and turned his attention back to the festival lights and bustle. 

“I..? Yeah,” he said, searching Sam’s face. “You got a problem with that?” he asked, a slight challenge to his tone. 

Sam glanced up at Dean and shook his head. “No,” he croaked, his throat having gone dry at the idea and the images dancing in his head of Dean’s lips against his own. 

“Good.” Giving Sam a slight smile and a nod, he waved the people selling drinks over. “I’ll have a hot chocolate and some rum.”

“We don’t have rum... this is a public event...” realizing the man was joking, the woman poured a hot chocolate and passed it to Dean.

“You want this or the apple cider?” Dean asked Sam, holding the cup out.

“This is good,” Sam responded with a nod before offering a slight shy smile to the woman. Returning his attention to Dean he lifted his brows. “Maybe apple cider later, before we head back in?” 

“And it’s for a good cause,” the woman piped in.

“I’ll take a hot chocolate,” Dean said, pulling out some money. “You get a tip if we don’t have to hear about what you’re doing with the money.” She served him quickly and pushed the cart away.

He chuckled and looked back at Sam. “See how you feel after you have this.” It wasn’t like he was gonna say ‘no.’ Sam had thought he’d bought the farm, and now... now he wanted to do it all and see it all. Dean couldn’t blame him. “Keep drinking it like that and they’ll use you as an advertisement,” he added, pulling his gaze away when he saw Sam lick the hot chocolate off his lips. 

Sam’s gaze lifted to Dean at his words and it was only then that he realized that despite the warmth of the cocoa he’d been inhaling it like he had never had hot chocolate before. Back before his mom and dad had died in the plane crash over fourteen years ago, he could remember his mom making it on Christmas eve. He offered Dean a slightly embarrassed smile and shrugged a shoulder. “It’s good,” he responded as though that explained everything. 

Sam’s attention was dragged away from Dean by the sound of Christmas music playing rather loudly and as he looked toward the sound he could see a marching band coming down the road and, behind it, what looked like a sleigh float with a Santa Claus tossing out candy. His lips curved into a wide smile and he stared with child-like awe at the approaching parade.

“Don’t tell me you still believe in Santa.” Dean gave a mock groan, but he was enjoying watching Sam. He could see a thrill run through the guy, and the excitement was almost catching. “You sure are making it hard to be a Christmas Grinch,” he added, under his breath. 

“On Donner, on Blitzen...” The Santa threw candy at the people on the sidewalk. 

With a wide smile curving his lips and causing deep dimples to show in his cheeks, Sam lunged forward to catch the candy, nearly dropping his mug of cocoa and falling out of his chair with the effort. 

“Whoa there, tiger,” Dean grabbed Sam’s shoulder. “You want a simple mint stick that’s got a curve on one end just to make it _special_ , just ask.” Shaking his head, he picked a few candy canes off the ground right, beating out some tiny little searching hands belonging to some kids. “Here ya go.” He passed the candy canes to Sam, but kept one for himself, daring Sam to say anything about it.

Sam blushed fiercely and ducked his head sheepishly. Not only had his near-fall embarrassed him, but his misunderstanding of the man’s words multiplied his shame since his mind had gone right into the gutter. But he blamed that part on his new found knowledge that this handsome guy was gay, just like like himself. “Thanks,” he mumbled but didn’t dare lift his eyes, afraid that Dean might be able to see clear through to his thoughts. 

“I’m sure you can catch as well as any player, just... take it easy for now,” Dean winked. He didn’t know what he’d said or done to make Sam jumpy, but he looked away, toward the parade. The kid was strange. Different. And yeah, he would keep on thinking of him as a _kid_ because if he didn’t keep reminding himself, his mind might go places where it shouldn’t. Where it had been trying to go last night. 

Dean stole a glance at Sam and shook his head again. It was a wonder that the guy could be so happy and full of life after he’d gone through so much. If their circumstances were reversed, Dean was sure he’d be impossible for anyone to handle. He’d be complaining about being unable to move or walk, about everything. Yet Sam was sitting there, smiling up a storm and sipping on hot chocolate. Maybe he could learn something from the kid.

Elves with silly toed shoes and toys in their hands passed by. Another couple marching bands followed, one of them was a dancing marching band. When one of the kids dropped his cymbal, Dean caught himself laughing too hard. He cleared his throat and tried to look grumpy again. 

Sam’s eyes swung to Dean as he laughed and Sam couldn’t help the chuckle what worked out of him. He noted how the skin at the corners of the guy’s eyes crinkled when he smiled big and how he seemed to look a lot younger that way, like a weight had lifted off of him for that split second. “Beautiful,” he mused a little louder than he had meant to and quickly tore his gaze away when Dean looked over. 

“Hmm?” Dean turned his head, expecting to see the baton twirling flag girls, but there were none. Slowly he turned back to look at Sam. He couldn’t mean... It might explain the jumpiness, but... Licking his lips, Dean kept his gaze on Sam, practically willing him to look back.

Sam took another sip of his cocoa as he watched the parade and then after he thought enough time had passed, chanced a glance over at Dean only to find the guy watching him. He blushed fiercely and ducked his head sheepishly, certain that Dean had found him out. Despite that, he couldn’t seem to make the smile fall from his face, especially when the next float came by and dumped candy and glitter on everyone on the sidewalk. 

Dean was about to say something, but finding gold flecks floating all around him, he just barely bit back a curse. He was slapping his jacket and brushing the stuff out of his hair. “Just when did fairy dust become part of Christmas. And don’t laugh, you’ve got it all over you,” he said, reaching out and shaking some of it free of Sam’s hair. His hand slipped down, and he started wiped some off Sam’s nose and cheek, when their eyes met and a hot jolt went through his entire system. His hand froze in place and he tried to deny what was in Sam’s eyes, and what he knew had to be reflected in his own 

Sam froze. His lips parted as he stared into verdant eyes that seemed to hold the same desires that he knew his own held, but he had to be wrong; it had to be wishful thinking. He managed to close his mouth long enough to swallowed hard but then his lips parted again, as though inviting Dean’s lips to sample them. 

Dean closed his eyes against the clear invitation. Swallowing, he forced himself to look back at the parade, although his mind was on what he’d seen in Sam’s eyes. They’d have to talk about that. Or better yet, he’d get Sam well, then drop him off at the foster home or orphanage and then get back to business. Yeah, that would be the best thing here. 

“Popcorn balls, popcorn balls. Hey, Mr., do you want...” 

Dean’s eyes merely went to Sam’s to see if he wanted any. It was hard, holding his gaze, and pretending like things hadn’t changed.

Sam shyly met Dean’s gaze, his smile gone as he looked at Dean and gave his head a shake before returning his attention to the parade. He managed to lose himself and pushed away thoughts of how his rescuer had looked at him when he’d rejected his invitation. It was with the same kind of loathing that he’d seen in the eyes of others before. 

“No thanks.” Dean nodded at the vendor, hinting at him to leave. As they watched the rest of the parade, he stole a few more glances at Sam, always following where his eyes went, when he smiled or laughed or waved back at the parade participants. 

When the parade was finally over, people were joining the tail of the parade. Dean shook his head. “I can’t believe we watched it all. I _know_ you don’t want to join it...” People were screaming and dancing and partying in the street, and Dean just knew Sam would get him to do it, too. 

Sam shook his head as he lowered his eyes to his lap. “Nah, it’s okay,” he allowed softly. He drew in a breath and squared his shoulders before forcing himself to look up at Dean and meet his eyes. “Thanks,” he murmured. “For bringing me out here,” he clarified with a nod. “It was...nice...fun.” 

“Hey, Sam?” Dean jerked his chin toward the street. “We can go, if you want. I was... kidding, you know, with the complaining and everything.” Everything inside him wanted to see Sam smile again. “I’m sorry I ruined it for you. Sometimes I don’t think.”

Sam shook his head. “You didn’t ruin it,” he argued gently. “I just...I didn’t mean to...” a blush stained his cheeks. “Y’know...before...” he murmured. He dropped his head to look down at his lap. “It was stupid of me.” 

“Didn’t mean to... Didn’t meant to what?” The answer hit Dean like a bag of bricks. “No. It wasn’t stupid. And some really, really lucky guy’s gonna take you up some time. Seriously,” he said, gripping Sam’s arm. “I’m just... I’m ten years older than you. A washed out Hardy Boy. I can’t take you down my road, it wouldn’t be fair,” he said, fighting the crazy need to just kiss the smiles back onto Sam’s face.

Sam nodded though he didn’t believe a word of it. He’d been rejected before, enough times that he should have expected it. It was just... what with knowing that Dean swung that way, he’d thought that maybe... well especially with the looks that the guy had been giving him… Leave it to him to take the looks all wrong. “Yeah, so can we just go in? I’m kinda tired,” he murmured. 

“Sure.” Letting out a breath, Dean pulled the wheelchair away from the sidewalk, turned it around and headed back towards the motel. 

Once they were inside the warm room, Dean took the blanket off Sam’s lap and threw it onto a chair. “Do you want a bath or should we just get you into pajamas?” Dean was extremely aware of the tension between them, but it was unavoidable. 

Sam’s head snapped up, his eyes wide as he stared at Dean. “Bath?” he inquired as though he’d never heard of one before. He shook his head almost vigorously or at least as vigorously as a guy who hadn’t moved in two months could manage. “N-n-no, I...no!” 

“Okay, no problem. I’ll get the kettle going to make you a cup of green tea. You should keep drinking it until you’re all better,” he said, moving to the kitchen and plugging the kettle in and grabbing a cup. Then he opened up a box of the tea he’d bought earlier in the day. “You can have it in bed while you watch some TV.”

“Um,” Sam muttered as he looked down at his lap and winced. “I uh, I kinda need to...uh...” 

“I’m all ears.” Dean raised a brow and pushed the mug to one side.

A blush stained Sam’s cheeks. “Pee,” he muttered almost inaudibly as he hung his head again. 

Dean managed not to crack a joke. “Good timing, since we gotta get you ready for bed.” He walked back to Sam and gripped the handles of the wheelchair, pushing it toward the bathroom. 

He parked it next to the door, then dropped down in front of Sam. “So, what do you think? Hamburgers with or without extra onions?” he asked, trying to distract Sam as he unbuttoned his jeans. Feeling the heat from Sam’s body, he knew that Sam wasn’t the only one needing a distraction. 

Sam’s eyes tracked Dean’s hands to the fastenings of his jeans and he struggled to hide the way his body reacted. His brow creased at Dean’s words and he wasn’t exactly sure what the guy was talking about. He gave his head a shake and slowly lifted it, his eyes going to Dean. “I don’t...” he rasped hoarsely. “I can... let me...” he mumbled as he moved his own hands to the fastenings. He wound up with his hands laying over Dean’s, though his fingers weren’t up to the task and lay there simply twitching gently against Dean’s fingers. 

Dean gave Sam a moment, closing his hands around Sam’s when Sam was unable to grasp his zipper. “I know this is hard. You’ve been through a lot. Being on her table without clothes... it makes you feel vulnerable.” He gave a nod. “It’s not the same thing. We’re just getting this off so you can piss, and then you’ll be back in your clothes. Trust me,” he whispered, lifting his hand to brush Sam’s bangs off his forehead.

Sam lifted his head and gazed into Dean’s eyes and hated the fact that tears stung his own. He didn’t want to look weak in front of this guy, he didn’t want to cry like an idiot. He slowly shook his head. “It’s not that...” he rasped softly. “Well it is,” he allowed. “But...” his cheeks flamed brighter and the tears in his eyes started to spill over before he tore his gaze from Dean’s and turned his head away. 

“Sam...” Dean whispered softly, at a loss. It was stupid. Thoughtless. Idiotic. And he wouldn’t have done it if he’d been thinking about it. But he simply leaned in and kissed the corner of Sam’s mouth, whispering, “it’s gonna be alright.”

But was it? When his pulse was racing like it had no business doing? “We’ll get through this. You’ll get through this,” he said, speaking with his mouth still too close to Sam’s.


	5. Chapter 5

Sam gasped in a soft breath at the feel of Dean’s lips brushing against the corner of his mouth and he turned his head back to face him, searching his features with a mixture of awe and uncertainty, his heart hammering out a wild tempo. When Dean didn’t pull back, Sam turned his head marginally, just enough to hesitantly press his lips lightly against Dean’s. His lips parted and his tongue darted out to trace along its seam, brushing against Dean’s in the process. 

Cupping the back of Sam’s head, Dean pressed his mouth more firmly against Sam’s, this time pushing his tongue between Sam’s lips. He shouldn’t. He knew it. But he couldn’t help himself. He did it. He kissed Sam. He swept his tongue around every corner of his warm, sweet mouth. Tasting him. Learning him. Wanting to put an end to those tears, and the sadness in his eyes.

When he finally pulled away, he swallowed. “You know, a lot of people would think I should go to jail for that. You’re just barely eighteen.” 

Sam’s eyes were brimming with adoration and maybe a little teenage puppy love as he searched Dean’s features and slowly shook his head. “Not anyone I know,” he retorted huskily. 

Sam slowly lifted a hand and allowed the tips of his fingers to trace along Dean’s bottom lip as a teary chuckle escaped him. “If I tell you somethin,’ you promise not to laugh?” he inquired before lifting his gaze from Dean’s lips to his eyes. “You’re my first kiss,” he confessed. 

“Great.” Dean let out a breath. “I’m honored,” he added quickly, “I just hope you never regret it.” _Don’t do something stupid like fall for a fuck up like me, kid._ “Now, does a first kiss get me the right to help you piss in the toilet instead of... ya know, anywhere else?” he joked, trying to ignore the fact his lips were burning, and that his pulse was out of control. Dean hoped none of it showed in his eyes. This was too dangerous, he felt it in his gut. Someone was going to get hurt. 

Sam swallowed hard when Dean sounded less than thrilled at his news. But then a soft chuckle escaped his lips at Dean’s joke. “Um, well, yeah I guess,” he allowed though a blush stained his cheeks. 

“But, wait a minute...okay?” Sam muttered softly, hanging his head again with embarrassment as he tried to will his erection away. 

“Problem?” Dropping his gaze, Dean gave a little chuckle. “It’s a curse... I have that effect on everyone.” Without giving Sam time to dwell on his _problem_ , Dean unzipped him and got up. Putting his shoulder under Sam’s arm, he helped him out of the wheelchair. 

In a few seconds, it was clear that Sam’s legs weren’t working at all. So Dean closed his arms around him, lifting him up to get him to the bathroom. Working Sam’s pants down while holding him up was a little bit of a struggle. “Should’a done this on the bed,” Dean said, grunting slightly as he tugged on Sam’s pants. 

Sam’s eyes widened and he shook his head, not wanting to think of what he’d do or want to do if Dean took his pants down in bed. “No, here’s good,” he rasped on a grunt of his own as he struggled to help Dean as best he could. 

Once the pants were finally down, Sam reached for his slightly erect dick and paused turning his head back to look at Dean. “Can you...I dunno, look the other way or somethin’?” 

“It’s rude to stare. I know,” Dean raised one hand up, though he hadn’t been staring. “Actually, I was thinking you could just sit on the toilet, take your time. Call me when you’re done and I can bring your change of clothes.”

“Oh, uh okay,” Sam stammered as he released his hold on his cock and nodded. 

Slowly lowering Sam down, he waited to be sure Sam was steady. “Don’t try to get up or anything. Just call me. If you hit your head in here...” He didn’t have to say anything else. He backed up to the door. “You gonna be okay?”

Sam nodded, a smirk teasing at his lips and a soft blush stained his cheeks. “Yeah, it’s just the bathroom,” he said with a slight shrug. One hand was pressed to the wall next to him while the other rested against the sink’s counter. 

“Yeah. Oh, lotion ’s within reach,” Dean pointed out with a wink as he left. 

Sam’s blush deepened to crimson as he watched wide eyed until the bathroom door closed behind Dean. He lowered his gaze to his semi-hard dick with a huff. “Great,” he grumbled half under his breath. 

* * * 

Going to the parade seemed to have drained Sam. It was almost noon, the next day, when Dean woke him up to make sure he was okay and that he got some food and drink in him. Sam had stayed awake for a couple of hours but then got back into bed and was out like a light.

Dean spent the morning researching and talking to Bobby. They agreed that the shape shifting creature that had taken Sam was a Groade. Groade’s were dangerously strong and used their talons and sharp teeth as weapons. They were territorial too, so if anyone came within their territory, they acted like killing machines. Most kept to themselves and lived in areas that were uninhabited by people, becoming a problem only when cities grew and crept into their areas. But there was a small subset of Groades that developed a taste for humans. Those were the ones that hunters came into contact with most often. 

The question was, what the hell that thing had been doing, turning humans into dolls? It wasn’t anything they’d seen before. Groades who chose to include humans in their diet didn’t play with their food. They just grabbed people, cut them up and dried up or preserved their organs like beef jerky, to eat later. That was why the creature had the know-how for preserving the students even when she didn’t feed them. Course whatever she’d done to them didn’t seem to be permanent since the other doll-kids had died Either that, or she’d intentionally killed them off.

He and Bobby went around and around on the issue, and came to the conclusion that they were dealing with a disturbed Groade. People came in all sorts of crazy, so why wouldn’t supernatural beings? Maybe that was all there was to it. In the end, it didn’t matter a whole hell of a lot. That thing was kidnapping and killing people. It had to be stopped. The end.

In the afternoon, Dean pushed the wheelchair next to Sam’s bed. He also put the remote, a tall glass of orange juice and a snack on the nightstand, within Sam’s reach, in case he woke. 

Then Dean took off to play FBI agent. A new kid had gone missing, and he had to find out if the Groade was back at it.

 

* * *

Sam woke and slowly rolled his head on the pillow, giving a groan. As his eyelids slowly fluttered open, he squinted to cut some of the sunlight pouring through the sheer curtains. It looked like Dean had pulled back the heavier drapes. 

“Mmmm, Dean?” Sam moaned softly, turning his head back the other way. 

His tongue darted out, licking across his dry lips as he waited for an answer that never came. Finally, he pressed his hands against the mattress to push himself up into a reclining position. Spotting the tall glass of orange juice, he reached for it then paused, eyeing the glass speculatively. “Isn’t this the part where the witch eats Hansel?” he mused aloud. 

He brought the glass to his nose and took a whiff. It smelled like plain old orange juice. Bringing the rim to his lips he tipped the glass and took a small sip to test the flavor. When only the fresh tang of oranges hit his tongue, he went ahead and chugged half the glass before setting it aside. 

Once he’d quenched his thirst, his curiosity kicked into high gear as he tried to figure out where Dean had disappeared to. “Probably scared him off acting like a teenager in heat,” he muttered disgustedly to the empty room. 

A second later, panic hit him. He truly was alone now. Maybe Dean wasn’t coming back. What would he do then? He could barely dragging his nearly useless legs around. If he tried real hard, he might be able to get into that chair, but what then? What if it was just him from now on? He took a deep, fortifying breath, trying to steady his nerves. “He’s coming back,” he told himself over and over. “He _will_ come back. He has to...” 

*

After he unlocked the door, Dean pushed it open and walked in, his eyes snapping over to the bed. “Looks like Sleeping Beauty’s up. I’m not even asking who kissed you awake,” he teased as he walked to the table to put his stuff down. 

Sam’s eyes were wide and he had scurried as far back as he could, his body hunched against the pillow when the door finally opened. When he saw it wasn’t an intruder, he released a breath in relief and swallowed hard as his muscles started to relax. “Dude, I thought you were a burglar,” he spat. “Or a...a... an old lady with a doll complex!” 

“Good, we’re even then. I thought my neighbors would think I was into blow up dolls when I first brought you in.” Glancing at Sam, Dean saw he was serious. “Sam, you’re safe here. No one knows you’re here. Which reminds me, we’re gonna have to eventually let the authorities know, and you’ll need a cover story about what happened.”

Sam adamantly shook his head . “No!” he nearly shouted in a voice edged with panic. “They’ll send me back. I don’t wanna go back to that place...it was almost as bad as being with that creepy old lady,” he murmured, his voice lowering to a near dejected whisper. “Can’t I just stay with you?” he begged. “I won’t be any trouble, I swear. I could...” he frantically looked around, trying to think of what Dean might need someone for. “I could...well, I can do anything you want me to.” 

“Calm down.” Dean crossed the room and reached the bed. “We’ll talk about this later. Let’s get you out of bed so your ass isn’t permanently stuck to it,” he said, starting to pull the bed covers off and sliding his arm behind Sam’s back. 

Sam started to argue, only to suck in a breath as Dean’s arm moved around him his back and the other brushed against his crotch on its way beneath his legs. His head snapped up and he stared wide-eyed into Dean’s face as a blush slowly worked its way across his features as his dick twitch with interest. 

“Put your arm around me,” Dean said, suddenly sensing the tension and finding himself too aware of Sam. When his eyes met Sam’s, he felt his heart rate kick up a notch and it all got just a little worse. 

Sam swallowed hard and nodded as he managed to lift his arm and wrap it around Dean’s shoulder. He had to fight not to toy with the fine hairs at the nape of Dean’s neck, and when the temptations was almost too much, he squeezed his eyes shut trying to drive it away. 

“I’ve gotcha.” Lifting, Dean found himself holding Sam a fraction too long before he set him slowly down onto the wheelchair, shifting him around a little and using his foot against the wheel to prevent the chair from moving. His face was so close to Sam’s, he couldn’t help but remember the kiss they’d shared. This was out of line. So damned outta line. 

He took a few sharp breaths and managed to speak. “You ah... you can let go,” he said, his voice low and raspy.

Sam stared at Dean a moment as though the man were speaking a foreign language before hastily pulling his arm from around Dean’s shoulder. “Oh, yeah, right...” 

Dean slowly straightened. He wished his lips weren’t burning for another taste of Sam. This was another reason that it would be best to get Sam to the authorities, or somewhere away from him, soon. Before he did something they would both regret. “Yeah...” he took a step back and took a deep breath.

“You know, I...” Sam started, only to stop. “Nothin’,” he muttered, hanging his head shyly. “Never mind.” He fought to get the memory of kissing Dean out of his head. 

“You what?” Dean asked, needing to get his mind off the idiotic fluttering in his stomach. He put one hand on the handle of the wheelchair and cocked his head.

Sam turned his head back and looked up at Dean. What could it hurt? The guy was planning to dump him back at the orphanage as soon as he could anyway so this might be his only chance. “I...” he could feel his face flushing. “I wouldn’t mind it if you...if you were my first.” 

It hadn’t been exactly what Dean expected. He felt his heart tumble in his chest, even as his mind told him this was wrong... so very wrong. “I would _love_ to be your first. If I were like five years younger,” Dean finally said. “Or if I wasn’t one to move around so much, and I hadn’t rescued you from some situation.” He could see that distant look entering Sam’s eyes again, and he couldn’t stand it.

“Look. Fact that I’m saying ‘no,’ that I’m not messing around with you... trust me, it means I give a shit about you. Seriously. Or else I’d take what you’re offering in a heartbeat, but I don’t want it to be like that. Not for you,” Dean said, meaning every word. 

Sam swallowed hard and gave a curt nod as he looked away in an attempt to hide his tears. “It’s okay,” he rasped hoarsely, holding back a sob. “I get it,” he murmured. “No families want me either. Too old for them, too young for you,” he cursed at his own bad luck. 

“It’s not the same thing. Sam,” Dean snapped, then looked up and took a calming breath. “How about we stay in touch after all this is over?” he finally asked, looking back down. “Maybe meet up in a couple years. And if no one’s snatched you up...” 

Sam had heard this same song and dance before, from families that thought he was too old but didn’t have the guts to say it to his face. Instead they’d say they’d invite him to come over and toss around a football, but then they’d never call or be home. He knew this was just another brush off but he nodded anyway. “Yeah,” he whispered. “Sure thing.” 

“Okay.” Dean knew Sam wasn’t buying it, but he had no way of convincing him. Trying would probably just lead to places he shouldn’t be going anyway. 

Moving behind Sam, he pushed his wheelchair over to the small table next to the kitchenette. “Got you something. It’s in the bag. Early Christmas...” he made a face, “present.”

Sam’s brows rose as he turned his head and looked at Dean skeptically, before turning his attention to the bag. “It’s not gonna bite me is it?” he muttered as he reached into the bag. 

His eyes widened as he stared at the iPad in his hand for a long moment, then tore his gaze from it to look back at Dean. “You...?” he stammered and shook his head. “Why?” 

“Because you hardly watch T.V. and you keep eyeing my lap top. I can tell you’re an egghead.” Dean grinned. “Don’t turn it on until I’m sure it’s not lo-jacked. What? The guy I got it from owed me money.”

Sam quirked a brow but found himself grinning. “I guess this is the part where I shouldn’t tell you that this is the first real Christmas present that I’ve gotten since my parents died, huh?” 

“Now I’m gonna have to wrap it up to make it all official...” Dean groaned. “It’s this place... this city, I tell you.” 

Pulling a chair up to the table, Dean grabbed the iPad and plugged it into his computer. As he worked on cleaning out the tablet and making sure there was no way for the owner to trace it, he spoke again. “If it’s any consolation, I don’t remember ever getting a ‘real’ Christmas present. Unless you count hand me downs, guns and knives. After my mom died, my dad didn’t believe in Christmas. Guess I don’t either.” 

“That’s...sad,” Sam muttered softly. “My parents use to go all out. We had a big tree with lots of tinsel. And my mom would bake cookies for hours, making the whole house smell like ‘em,” he explained, a light entering his eyes. 

“I used to love Christmas and my sister Jo, she did too.” Sam gave a slight chuckle. “I didn’t even mind it when she’d want to watch all those dorky Christmas movies.” 

“How old were you,” Dean asked, though he could have kicked himself right after. “You don’t have to talk about it. I shouldn’t have...”

Sam’s smile melted away at the question though he shook his head. “No, it’s okay, I don’t mind. It’s kinda like talkin’ about them makes ‘em seem more real, like maybe they’re still here somehow.” He cleared his throat knowing that Dean had to think he was a freak. 

“I was ten,” he said. “My parents and my sister were actually...” he scoffed and shook his head. “Would you believe they’d gone to get a Christmas tree? I stayed home to watch a show... I should have gone with them.” He paused. “The roads were icy and a cement truck blindsided them. The SUV went rolling and landed upside down in one of the canals. They said that the wreck didn’t kill them, that they probably drowned because the canal was narrow and they couldn’t get their doors open.” 

“I’m sorry.” The words felt empty, but there wasn’t anything Dean could say. He wondered if that was why Sam didn’t watch TV now, at least not much. “You don’t have other relatives? No uncles... aunts?”

Sam shrugged a shoulder. “My Dad was an only child and my Mom’s family didn’t like my Dad, so... They’re not really into the whole taking in William’s stray thing,” he explained with a frown. 

“Stray, huh?” Reaching out, he ruffled Sam’s hair. He’d been dying to do that for a while, but he wasn’t about to admit it. Not even to himself. As he started to pull his hand away, he caught that look in Sam’s eyes again. He was sure it was reflected in his own. Pulling his gaze away he looked at the tablet, watching the progress of the scan through unseeing eyes. 

Sam huffed softly at the gesture, the motion reminding him that Dean saw him as a kid. He lowered his gaze and fidgeted in the wheelchair, wishing he had something to do rather than brood. If he could have walked, he’d have gone for a walk now, just until that fluttering in his chest went away. 

“It’s their loss. I’m sure of it.” Dean pushed the start button and then flipped the tablet around. “All yours. Just don’t douche it up with some Christmassy wallpaper or anything.”

Sam lifted his gaze to Dean’s before looking over at the laptop, a grin teasing at the corners of his lips. “You know, I would tell you again that this is the first Christmas present I ever got, least since my folks passed, but yeah... I better not,” he mused, glancing over at Dean out of the corner of his eye. 

Dean looked up, and shook his head. “It’s more to confirm there’s an egghead in there,” he said reaching out to tap Sam’s forehead, but this time stopping himself before his finger touched Sam. 

Sam scoffed and shook his head as he pulled the tablet onto his lap and began to type, his entire focus centered on what he was doing to the point that for a moment he forgot where he was and everything that had happened to him. 

“I knew it.” Giving a smug grin, Dean stood up. “How about some spaghetti for dinner. Unless you have cabin fever and you want to go to the hamburger joint down the road.”

Sam slowly tore his eyes away from the computer screen and looked up at Dean, lips parted in a rather baffled expression. “Huh?” 

“Food. We’ve got to get some inside of you. You’ve been sleeping all day. Do you want me to throw something together, or do you want out of here for a while?” Having to repeat himself amused Dean, only because it showed that Sam was really into the ipad and, for some reason, it made him feel good to know he’d made the kid happy.

“Oh,” Sam muttered, his eyes lighting up at the thought of leaving the room. “We can go out?” he asked in excitement, like he’d never heard the concept before. 

“Dude... we went out last night,” Dean reminded Sam. “Let’s just not get you as tired, okay?” 

Sam shrugged a shoulder. “That was just outside the door,” he reasoned. “But hell yeah, I’m game.” 

“Alright. Let’s get you dressed.” Seeing the blush creep up Sam’s cheeks, Dean laughed. “You should be used to it by now. And tomorrow, we’ll see if your legs work any better.” 

Moving the wheelchair, Dean pushed past to get Sam’s clothes. 

* * * 

The diner Dean had in mind was a couple blocks away. He’d pushed Sam’s wheelchair and listened to him yammering on about school. As they learned about each other, he knew that Sam was surprised by the fact that their lives hadn’t been that different. Sam had been shuffled from school to school, from one foster parent to another, but it had been the same for Dean. Course Dean didn’t tell Sam his dad was a hunter, but made it sound more like he was a drifter. It was close enough to the truth.

They’d had dinner and there had been an awkward moment when the damned waitress had taken ‘em for a couple and Dean had made the mistake of asking why she thought that. The waitress said it was because he was looking at Sam like Sam was dessert. He’d denied it several times, but he kept feeling Sam glance at him every once in a while. It was disconcerting because... damn, if a total stranger saw it, Dean couldn’t keep lying to himself. Well he could, but keeping Sam fooled until they parted ways, that had just gotten a lot harder.

It had also made bath time twice as awkward. Now that Sam was finally in his pajamas and in bed, with the ipad on his lap, Dean could take a breath of relief. Laying down on the sofa, he occasionally glanced away from the T.V. and at Sam. 

Sam yawned and finally pulled his attention away from the ipad to look over at Dean on the sofa. “I’m tired, I think I’m gonna call it a night,” he murmured, powering down the ipad in his hands. He set it aside on the bedside table and wound up yawning again, this time lifting a hand to try and conceal it as he scooted down in the bed and pulled the blanket up to his chest. 

“Is it okay if I turn out the light?” he asked as he looked back over at Dean. At Dean’s nod, he reached over and clicked off the light then rolled onto his side. “Night, Dean,” he mumbled softly. 

“Night, Sammy.”

***

Sam shivered and huddled down further under the blanket, his brow creasing when he felt no warmth. That was when he realized he was no longer in the bed in Dean’s motel room, but laying on the old woman’s kitchen table. 

_No, oh God, please no!_

Sam’s eyes darted from side to side and he could feel his body tremble. He couldn’t make himself move, couldn’t lift a hand or push himself up. Then he saw her heading his way, his heart clenching when he saw a red hot branding iron in her hand. 

“Now everyone will know that you belong to me,” she told him matter of factly as she pressed the iron down onto Sam’s stomach. 

He screamed in pain as his flesh burned and sizzled, the smoke stinging his nose and eyes. Tears rolled down the side of his face and across his temples as she continued to hold the fiery iron against his skin. He was sure that she was branding him to the bone. 

Jackknifing up in bed, Sam wasn’t certain where the screaming was coming from. At least at first, before he saw Dean running over and realized it was coming from himself. 

A little disoriented from having been pulled out of a deep sleep, Dean stumbled a little, then caught himself just as he got to the bed. “Sam?” He reached for him, wanting to shake him awake, but saw his eyes were open and that he was shaking like a leaf. “Sam, you’re safe,” he said, closing his arm around Sam.

Dean meant to lift Sam up, to put a pillow behind his back. He really did. But something happened. He didn’t know if he made the first move, or if Sam did. But before he could think straight, he’d covered Sam’s mouth with his and was kissing him. He tasted salt, and fear, and sweet, sweet innocence. 

Sam’s breath caught in his throat when their lips first met. He froze for a moment and his heart began thundering in his chest, this time out of excitement and not fear. 

Dean knew better, but instead of pulling away, he found himself climbing on the bed and kissing Sam again, and again. He ran his hand down the side of Sam’s face, tried to tell him not to be afraid. His words failed him. His good intentions falling by the wayside. His world shifted and he was no longer just comforting, but he was kissing Sam, making love to him. 

Sam clutched Dean as he kissed him back, trying to copy the things that Dean did with his tongue. Soft moans and whimpers broke from his throat. He tugged at Dean’s tee, pulling him in closer if it were possible. 

_Don’t stop. Oh God don’t stop,_ Sam cried out with his mind, afraid to break the kiss long enough to say the words. Wasn’t sure if this would ever happen again if he broke this connection. 

Each time Dean thought he should stop, he couldn’t. The way Sam clung to him, held him close. The way his lips moved against his own, and the soft, loving sounds he made, drew Dean back, over and over. Fire inched through Dean’s veins, making him feel things he had no business feeling. But logic had nothing to do with this. All he knew was that he’d been attracted to Sam almost from the start, and it hadn’t let up. It couldn’t, not when Sam seemed to want him too.

Sam started to lay back, pulling Dean down with him, soft whimpers sounding deep in his throat when it felt as though Dean was going to deny him. He sighed into Dean’s mouth when Dean gave in. 

Dean’s hand moved up and down along Sam’s side. He worked it under Sam’s shirt, and gave a soft groan as his hand glided across smooth warm skin. He was getting hard. Damned hard, and he found himself grinding his hips against Sam’s. It felt so good, too good. It made him want more.

Feeling Dean grinding against him, Sam tore his mouth away and sucked in a startled breath. He stared up Dean, a little afraid, a little in shock and with a helluva lot of desire. 

He tightened his grip on Dean. “D-d-don’t stop,” he whispered hoarsely. “Please don’t stop,” he pleaded. “It just...surprised me, is all,” he explained before lifting his head off the pillow and pressing his lips to Dean’s. 

Dean thought he could regain his self-control, but it was over the moment Sam’s soft, firm lips, touched his. Groaning, he kissed Sam again, closing his hands around Sam’s arms and rolling onto his back so Sam was now sprawled on top of him. There was a lot less friction because Sam did not have control over his legs, but it was better. Safer, Dean told himself, even as he ran his hands down Sam’s back, and over his ass, molding him close just as he pushed his tongue into the hot cavern of Sam’s mouth and tangled their tongues together. 

A disgruntled sound left Sam’s throat at the loss of friction, but he didn’t stop to complain. Instead he simply tried to kiss Dean harder, with as much passion as he could muster, trying his best to make it look like he knew what he was doing and wasn’t just some horny teenager. 

Their teeth clinked together. Dean pulled back a little as Sam repositioned his mouth, and they were kissing again. When Sam’s tongue entered his mouth, Dean knew he was experimenting. He let him, holding his head still as Sam’s tongue investigated his mouth. But he couldn’t help running his hands over Sam’s lithe body. When thoughts of moving his hands under Sam’s shorts started to torture him, he kissed Sam one more time then broke the kiss. 

He was breathing hard. So was Sam. The room was absolutely quiet, it was just them. “I don’t....” Dean let out another hot breath as he stared up into Sam’s eyes. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he said. “Don’t fall for me. Just don’t.”


	6. Chapter 6

Sam swallowed hard as he gazed into Dean’s eyes. His chest rose and fell heavily with his panted breaths and he nodded mutely though he didn’t put much stock in the command and was only answering the way he thought Dean wanted him to. 

Giving an almost imperceptible nod, Dean reached up, closed his hand behind Sam’s head and drew him down again for another mind numbing kiss. His hands roamed down Sam’s back and sides, then came to rest over his tight ass. Squeezing gently he raised his hips, moaning as he brought their cocks into contact. 

Sam sighed into the kiss, tangling his tongue with Dean’s and memorizing the feel, the taste of him, just in case he woke up tomorrow and all this was only a dream. His ass muscles clenched and released as Dean squeezed him, his hips cantering forward as he ground his hard dick down against Dean’s. If his mind hadn’t been totally absorbed in all the sensations he was feeling, he would have been surprised by his ability to move the way he was moving. 

Fire raced through Dean’s veins. The soft sounds Sam made wound him up, tighter and tighter. Each time Sam managed to grind against him, Dean saw flashes of white behind his eyelids. He needed more, wanted more. 

_Leave him alone. He’s too young. He’s got hero worship going._

Oh, Dean knew damned well what was right and wrong. But he couldn’t fight this. Didn’t really want to. Not anymore.

Slowly rolling onto his side and pushing Sam down onto his back, Dean pulled the covers off them. Bracing himself on his elbow, he swept his hand under Sam’s shirt, stroking his chest and slowly bringing his hand down lower, in circles that lead straight to his briefs. As he slipped his fingers under the waistband, his eyes met Sam’s in question.

Sam’s chest heaved. His eyes tracked the Dean’s hand moving under his shirt. His eyes lifted to Dean’s face as he felt Dean’s hand slip lower, over his stomach and further, fingertips ducking beneath the elastic of his night pants and briefs. He nodded in response to Dean’s questioning gaze even as he swallowed hard, tongue darting out to lick nervously across his lips. 

Pushing his hand deeper into Sam’s briefs, Dean closed his hand around Sam’s rock hard cock, sliding his thumb over its tip and spreading the beads of pre-cum that had gathered. Squeezing gently, he started to slide his hand up and down Sam’s length, his eyes never leaving Sam’s. “Harder?” he asked, his voice so low, it could barely be heard.

Sam sucked in an audible breath and his back arched as his head pressed against the pillows. His eyes squeezed closed for a moment before he blinked them open at Dean’s barely there whisper. He nodded, lips parting to let out a ragged whisper. “Y-yeah, more.” 

The way Sam’s voice shook, it sent a jolt through Dean’s system. The thing of it was, even with all of his experience, Dean was just as affected. Something about this kid, about this guy. He couldn’t put his finger on it, why this was happening, why he was getting dragged so deep into something he shouldn’t… why he was getting so involved. 

Leaning in, he slanted his mouth over Sam’s and started to stroke him faster, and harder. His own cock was hard and the lack of pressure was killing him. He found himself rolling closer, pressing his arousal against Sam’s hip, moving to the same rhythm as his hand. 

Sam’s breaths quickened and he reached for Dean, his eyes lifting to the other man’s as he boldly allowed his hand to travel downward and cup Dean’s arousal through the thin material of his boxers. His nostrils flared as arousal shot through his veins causing his cock to pulse within the vise of Dean’s fingers. 

“Want you,” he rasped hoarsely. “Please...” 

“Oh, God... yes,” Dean answered, releasing Sam and pulling his own shorts down to his thighs. His aching cock brushed against his stomach and had him biting his lower lip. He reached for Sam again, this time pulling his pajama pants and briefs down, freeing him. 

Swallowing hard, Dean dipped his head down, licked across Sam’s crown, then rolled back onto his side and closed his fist around Sam again. Holding his breath, thinking his heart was about to stop, he watched Sam intently and waited for his touch.

Sam’s breath was knocked from his lungs when Dean actually agreed and pulled both their pants down. Before he recovered, Dean licked across his sensitive head and had him inhaling sharply, his hands clenching into fists as he squeezed his eyes shut. Then Dean resumed stroking him, and Sam pried his eyes open and watched for a moment, his gaze slowly drifting to Dean’s erection. Unclenching one hand, he wrapped around Dean’s dick, brushing the pad of his thumb across the tip, smearing Dean’s precome. 

Dean’s hand stilled for a moment as he dealt with the intense sensations ripping through him. He took a deep breath, then slowly blew it out. Watching Sam through heavy lidded eyes, he picked up the speed of his strokes. Perversely, each time he saw Sam get into a certain rhythm, he changed things up. Slowing. Stopping, then moving again. Not wanting Sam to be able to predict when his hand would move again. Concentrating on Sam helped take his mind off his own building need for release.

Sam struggled to match his strokes to the rhythm that Dean set, but it was an impossible task with the way that Dean teased his cock. He groaned and whimpered, writhing against the mattress, his hips bucking and squirming as soft mewled sounds broke from his throat. 

It was Sam’s first time and Dean wanted it to be good. His own first time had pretty much been a bust, but he’d been with a kid his age and neither of them had known what he was doing. 

Licking his palm, he started to pump Sam’s cock faster, his fist gliding smoothly up and down. His breaths were labored, all of his muscles squeezed tight as he concentrated on giving Sam as much as he could, and putting off his own release. He wasn’t about to blow his wad before a first timer, which ordinarily wouldn’t be an issue for him. But with Sam... 

As he felt Sam get closer, Dean held the base of Sam’s cock with one hand, squeezing him and sometimes putting pressure on his balls. When he saw how flushed Sam’s cock had gotten, he dipped his head down and licked off his now steadily leaking pre-com. It was an awkward position, and he only held it for a fraction of a moment, but he knew from Sam’s reaction that it was worth it. 

Sam gasped in a breath. His entire body jolted and his back bowed when Dean licked across the head of his dick again. His hand on Dean’s cock paused because he was too stunned and overwhelmed by the sensations washing over him to be able to remember to move his own hand. He groaned and his head thrashed against the pillow as heat and need coiled tightly in his stomach, causing his balls to pull up against his body. 

“Dean...” he breathed thickly. 

“That’s it... that’s it baby, come for me,” Dean whispered back, doing everything he could to get Sam there. He didn’t even care that he was now thrusting into Sam’s practically motionless fist. It just showed him how lost Sam was in all this, which was exactly what Dean had wanted. “Let go... just...” 

Sam’s muscles tensed, his neck arching back as his hips bucked up into the air, pushing his hard dick further into his lover’s hand. Goosebumps broke out over his skin and tightened his nipples into hard points. A ragged cry broke past his lips a moment later as the first rope of cum shot from his cock. 

As Sam fell apart, Dean took it all in. Sam’s glazed, unseeing eyes. His lust-blown pupils. The agony-reflected in his expression right before his release. “Fuck...” Dean groaned, thrusting his hips harder as Sam’s hot come sprayed and coated both his hand and Sam’s stomach. He squeezed and stroked Sam’s cock, milking him until his own shouted release made it impossible. “Sam... Sammy...” he groaned again, pulling Sam close.

Sam’s eyes snapped wide at the feel of the warmth that spattered against his stomach and he only then began once more to stroke along the length of his lover’s dick and he forced himself to keep his eyes open, despite the post orgasmic lethargy, so that he could watch as Dean came apart. “So fuckin’ beautiful,” he breathed softly in awe, his voice husky and slightly hoarse. 

Dean’s hand slipped up to Sam’s hip, his fingers digging into his flesh as his body tensed. “Oh... God...” he groaned, his breath catching in his throat as he came so hard, it was like he hadn’t been touched in months. The headboard was wet with his come, and looking up, Dean tried to laugh, though he had barely any breath to do it. “Look what you made me do.”

Sam lifted his eyes as he slid his head against the pillows in an attempt to look up and a soft chuckle worked out of him, a wide grin splitting his face. “Right back at ya,” he panted softly, swallowing hard afterward. 

“Guess so...” Chuckling, Dean dropped a kiss on the corner of Sam’s mouth. “I’m going to hell for this.” Then he added. “It was worth it.”

Sam returned Dean’s kiss, smile still etched into his features until Dean spoke again about going to hell. His smile fell away and he shook his head as he gazed earnestly up into Dean’s face. “I wanted it, it’s not your fault,” he corrected gently. 

Dean had wanted it, and it _was_ his fault. But he knew Sam wasn’t gonna get it. Even if he asked Sam what he’d do if his eighteen year old kid hooked up with some guy that was almost thirty, Sam would have some glib answer. In the end, maybe all that mattered was that Sam wouldn’t be hurt by what they’d done. 

“Okay,” Dean answered, brushing the side of Sam’s face, then pushing his bangs out of his eyes. “I think this is the part where we kiss again...”

The smile returned to Sam’s face and he nodded almost eagerly, tilting his head up and parting his lips as he allowed his eyes to slip closed. 

Dipping his head down, Dean licked across Sam’s lips, then tangled their tongues together outside their mouths. “Mmm, taste good,” he whispered, before kissing Sam again, this time putting everything he was feeling into it. 

Sam moaned into the kiss, his heart swelling with love despite Dean’s warnings not to fall for him. 

* * * 

Sam smiled as he stirred awake and felt the warm weight of Dean’s body next to him, his arm flopped over Sam’s middle in sleep. Sam shifted onto his side and propped his head up in his hand with his elbow pressed against the pillow as he gazed down at Dean who was laying on his stomach with his face turned toward Sam. 

Dipping his head, Sam pressed a trail of soft kisses along Dean’s nape, making his way over to Dean’s ear. “Good morning,” he whispered, his voice still hoarse from sleep. 

“Shush... m’having a good dream,” Dean muttered, trying to cling to the all too sexy dream that was quickly fading.

Sam chuckled softly. “Mmmm, am I in it?” he inquired huskily. 

“Huh?” Dean forced his eyes open. Then it hit him. It hadn’t been a dream, and Sam was really up close and personal with him. He didn’t know whether to shout for joy or hang his head. In the end, he told the truth. “You’re starring in it,” he said, slowly rolling off his stomach to look into Sam’s gorgeous eyes.

Sam’s grin widened as he moved back a little to give Dean more room to move. “Could have the real thing instead of just a dream,” he invited with a lift of his brows as he caught his own bottom lip between his teeth. 

“Oh yeah? Well you know, it was a really, really great dream.” Even as he spoke, Dean reached for Sam, pulling him half onto top his chest as they kissed. 

Sam moaned into the kiss as he returned it and slowly pulled his head back though he captured Dean’s bottom lip between his own and sucked at it the way he had been wanting to from the start. He released it with a pop, a shy smile curving his lips as he gazed down into Dean’s face. 

“I already offered you whatever you wanted,” he said softly. “All you have to do is say the word.” 

“Honestly? Don’t need anything I don’t already have, right here, right now.” He held Sam a little tighter and ignored the voice in his head warning him about getting too attached. He’d done his best not to care, going so far as to nick name Sam ‘Goner,’ ignored him and tried to treat him like a kid. None of it had worked, and here they were in bed. Together. 

Sam smiled adoringly down at Dean and gave a nod. “I’m glad,” he murmured though that wasn’t exactly what he had meant. He’d been offering Dean more than what they had done the night before but either he hadn’t been clear enough or Dean was purposefully not acknowledging the fact. 

He dipped his head and pressed a soft kiss to Dean’s lips before slowly drawing his head back, his eyes searching Dean’s. “So...now what?” he asked. 

It was a loaded question, and Dean knew it. He also had a talent for avoiding them. “Now. Now we see how your legs are doing. Try to get you on your feet. Whatcha think?” 

Sam’s smile slowly melted away, though he nodded. “Uh, yeah, okay,” he muttered softly and started to push away from Dean’s chest. 

“Hey. Didn’t mean like pronto,” Dean said, holding Sam before he could roll away. “I’m just worried. You’ve got everything back except your legs and I don’t know why.”

Sam sighed softly and nodded. “I know, it’s okay. Might as well get it over with so you can be rid of me,” he muttered dejectedly, his gaze lowered and not really seeing anything. 

“That’s not fair.” It was Dean’s turn to look away. 

Sam lifted his eyes to Dean. “It’s true isn’t it? Get the kid healthy so you can dump me somewhere at some orphanage,” he spat. “Just forget it, I’m fine, go ahead and dump me off somewhere now, alright?” he huffed. “Save yourself the trouble of dealing with me anymore.”

Sam pushed himself out of Dean’s embrace and lay on his back staring at the ceiling. He blinked away the sting of tears. He wasn’t going to cry. Didn’t know why it mattered so much, why he wanted to be with Dean so much. So they’d kind of had sex, it didn’t mean anything, he should know that. Hell, not a day ago the guy was practically shoving him away. 

Sam’s pain was palpable and Dean had no idea how to deal with it, or what to do with it. One thing he did know was that he hated seeing it, and being the reason for it. “I shouldn’t have...” He ran his hand over his face and closed his eyes. “I knew you were too young to handle this. I...” 

Sam’s eyes darted upward, meeting Dean’s face. “This has nothing to do with _that_ and I _am_ old enough,” he argued. “I just don’t wanna go back to the orphanage, alright?” he spat angrily. “If you... if you wanna get rid of me, fine...but just...don’t make me go back there...” 

“I’m not gonna _make you_ do anything. I can’t and they can’t either. You’re eighteen now,” Dean reminded Sam. From the birthdate he’d seen, it was clear Sam’s birthday had come around after he was kidnapped. 

Unable to take the intensity of the moment, Dean flipped the bed sheets over and got out of the bed. “I know people. They can help get you set up. With your parents gone... maybe there are benefits that the state is currently taking that you can get instead, while you go to school.” 

Sam watched Dean. He drew in a deep breath and forced a neutral look onto his face even though, inside, his heart hung onto one thought. _Without you_. He’d said he was old enough, that he could handle what they’d done and he was going to prove it to Dean. Wordlessly, he nodded. His tongue darted out, licking across his lips in an attempt to stall so that he could make his voice sound less pathetic as he choked back the sob that burned the back of his throat. 

“Yeah,” he finally managed to croak. He cleared his throat and nodded again. “Yeah, I’d...I’d like that.” 

“Okay.” Dean pressed his lips together. It wasn’t okay, and they both knew it. 

Just for a moment, Dean let his mind go to the unthinkable. He envisioned Sam in his life, driving around, messing around... having someone permanent there. “I’d just fuck up your life,” he said softly, not even knowing he’d spoken his thoughts.

Sam stole a quick glance at Dean before lowering his gaze again and giving a nod. _You mean I’d fuck up yours._

*

Forty minutes later, they were both dressed. It had taken a lot less effort helping Sam, since Sam had more control over his limbs. 

Walking over to the bed, where Sam sat, Dean reached for him. “Let’s see if you can make your legs work. Ten steps to the wheelchair,” he said, pointing with his chin.

As he drew Sam up, his scent washed over Dean. He closed his eyes against the ache, and it wasn’t just his body, it was in his heart.

Sam grasped Dean tightly, afraid that his legs would simply give out and they’d both go crashing to the floor. His heart hammered in his chest, and it wasn’t just from the fear of falling, but Dean’s nearness, his touch had Sam’s body reacting. He swallowed hard and tried to take a step rather than give voice to what was happening. His leg wobbled but managed to support his weight. 

“Heh, maybe I’m gettin’ the hang of this,” he rasped softly as he took another step though he still clung to Dean like a vine. 

It took Dean a few seconds to answer, after he dealt with the feelings Sam stirred inside him. “Definitely bearing some of your own weight now,” he said. It was the first time Sam had been able to pick his foot up off the floor. You’ll be dancing the hokey pokey in no time.”

“Heh,” Sam breathed the soft chuckle shakily. “Yeah, we’ll see...” he muttered distractedly as he focused his attention on walking and not causing them both crumble to the floor. 

“Seriously. Look how quickly you got full use of your hands after the first time you were really able to move them.” Dean tried not to think of how sweetly Sam’s hands had moved all over him, all night long.

Sam licked his lips and found himself looking toward his hands that gripped Dean’s shoulder and the front of the man’s shirts in a tight fist. “Yeah,” he chuckled nervously. 

“Just think, another week and I’ll be outta your hair for good,” Sam joked, though the words fell flat and left him with a pain in his chest, despite his chuckle and forced smile. 

The air left Dean all at once, like he’d just been sucker punched. He searched Sam’s face, but the answers to his question were buried in his own heart. “Maybe,” he said tightly. “Or maybe I’ll get you this newfangled thing called a cell phone. Between phone calls and emails,” he nodded toward the iPad, “You might be the one wishing I’d get outta your hair.”

Sam’s brows shot up in a look of surprise as he turned his head and looked at Dean. “Really?” he asked stunned that the man actually planned to stay in touch with him. 

Dean gave a one shouldered shrug. “If you... if you’d like that.” He found himself holding his breath and tightening his grip on Sam.

Sam shrugged a shoulder a little awkwardly in an attempt to seem casual about the idea. “Sure,” he agreed. “I mean, if you wanted to.” 

Dean gave a low chuckle, and started to make Sam walk again. “You playing hard to get with me?” 

Sam’s brow creased with thoughtful confusion before he shook his head. “No,” he responded. “Did...did you want me to?” 

“No,” Dean quickly said. “I also don’t want to stop you from living your life the way you should. I like you. A lot,” he admitted, unsure if he was doing the right thing. 

Sam smiled and started to reach for the wheelchair as they reached it only to pause and turn his full attention to Dean, allowing himself the luxury of searching his face. He didn’t care that his feelings were probably easy to read in the depths of his eyes, he just wanted to be sure that he didn’t say or do something stupid. So he just beamed at Dean, his smile wide enough to cause dimples to form in his cheeks. 

Dean grabbed Sam’s other forearm. As he slowly lowered Sam into the chair, he couldn’t help himself. He closed the small distance between their faces, slanting his mouth over Sam’s in a slow, lingering kiss. 

A soft sighing moan broke from Sam’s throat and he lifted one hand up to cup the side of Dean’s face as he returned the other man’s kiss eagerly. He tangled his tongue with Dean’s just the way he’d learned from him last night. 

Dean broke the kiss, leaned in to join their mouths again, then pulled back. He wiped his thumb across Sam’s reddened lips and straightened. “We’d better get out of here or we’ll never get any breakfast.” Grabbing the messenger bag and slipping Sam’s tablet inside, he opened the door and pushed the wheel chair out.

It was hot. Too damned hot to be walking around with a parka, scarves and mittens. That apparently didn’t stop the residents of Christmas, Florida from pretending they were having a white Christmas.

Dean poked Sam and pointed at the bunch of kids and teens dressed like they were going sledding and shook his head. “This town should be renamed, Denial.”

Sam couldn’t help the giggle-like chuckle that broke from his throat at Dean’s words. He was in high, all from Dean telling him he wanted to keep in touch. Sam had no idea whether Dean really would or not, but the possibility warmed his heart. 

Seeing the kids rush towards them, Dean quickly turned the wheel chair around as if on a dime, and started walking away. The faster he walked, the faster they walked, until he was running and cursing under his breath.

Sam laughed outright as he looked back at Dean and shook his head. “He saves people from deranged old ladies but runs from a pack of kids,” he mused with another chuckle. 

“They’re deranged kids,” Dean countered, pushing the wheelchair off the curb on the other side of the parking lot, then running across the crosswalk, even though the ‘don’t walk’ it was already flashing. “Jeez....” Huffing and puffing, he slowed down when he was across the street and saw the kids were stuck at the crosswalk.

A short time later, they were seated inside a diner and had their breakfasts in front of them. Sam was fooling around on his tablet, and Dean was checking his emails and not looking very happy. Bobby had sent him information about a likely abduction that seemed remarkably similar to Sam’s kidnapping.

Sam glanced up at Dean as he shoved some of his banana nut muffin into his mouth. He frowned worriedly as he chewed, studying Dean’s face. “What’s wrong?” he asked. 

“Huh?” Dean looked up. “Nothing. Just work shit. What about you, you surfin’ porn sites?” he asked. 

Sam quirked a brow only to purse his lips in distaste. “No,” he grumbled, lowering his gaze to his iPad. “I was actually looking up stuff. Like what happened to me. I wanted to see what happened to some of the other kids she grabbed. I mean, I figured they were dead, but I don’t _know_ for sure...” he muttered. 

“They’re gone,” Dean confirmed, putting his hand over Sam’s. “But you’re here and you’re going to put that behind you. There was nothing you could have done for any of them.”

Sam gave a slight shrug. “Maybe.”. 

Dean locked gazes with him. “You couldn’t move a muscle, there was nothing you could do. Look, she even clocked me and I wasn’t drugged up.” His phone started to vibrate on the table.

Seeing it was Bobby, he released Sam’s hand and took the call. “Yeah Bobby, whatcha got?” Dean’s lips tightened and he started sliding out of the booth. “I gotta take this call outside, go ahead and eat,” he told Sam, and then made his way out of the diner.

Outside, Dean paced as Bobby told him the information he’d dug up. For one thing, it seemed that injured Groades would hibernate for short periods until they healed. That told them why she hadn’t immediately gone back into business. But that wasn’t the bad news. 

“Exactly how do they mark their victims,” Dean demanded. “Is it something we can get rid of? I don’t fucking like the idea that it can find Sam again.”

“It gets worse. They are very territorial, they _always_ go back. I just emailed my research to you. Why don’t you go on and bring him here so you can go after that thing,” Bobby suggested.

“No. He won’t like that.”

“Just a couple of days ago, you couldn’t wait to dump him on me,” Bobby groused. “What do you care what he likes. Wait... you care. Dean?”

“Bobby, I gotta go. I’ll call you later.” Not letting the hunter question him further, Dean shut the phone. 

*  
Frustrated and annoyed by the way Dean had simply dismissed the idea that he should have done something to help the other kids, or that he could maybe help now, Sam glared out the window, watching Dean pace. There had to be something he could do. He wasn’t a complete invalid. He could maybe at least give some details to Dean or the authorities, something that could help them. Or he could help with research if someone pointed him in the right direction. No matter how bad things had been at the orphanage, he’d always been good in school, making straight A’s and the Honor Roll. His sharp mind could problem solve as easily as breathing. 

It was these thoughts that had Sam reaching for Dean’s computer and opening the browser up to the last page Dean had been looking at. He scanned the messages but before he was completely done, he caught sight of Dean coming back inside and was forced to push the lap top back and act as though he had been eating and was piddling on his iPad. 

Brushing his hand over his face, Dean sat down. “You’ve barely eaten,” he said, lifting his own fork, though oddly, his appetite was gone.

Sam shrugged. “I, uh, was waitin’ for you to get back,” he lied. “Somethin’s wrong, huh?” he inquired, though he already knew the answer. 

“A complication. That’s all, nothing for you to worry about. Eat your breakfast.” Dean licked his lips, wondering how he was going to secure Sam while going after that bitch. It was clear now, that she had to die, not just to prevent her from finding new victims, but to stop her from getting Sam.

Sam frowned and lowered his gaze to his food, he couldn’t help but feel a little angry that Dean didn’t think that he could share with him. “You know,” he said softly as he stabbed at his blueberry pancakes. “I could help you.” 

“Help me? Help me with what?” Dean asked, willing Sam to look up and explain.

“With gettin’ that old lady,” Sam responded simply with a shrug of one shoulder. “I mean, I already know how she operates, I could help you catch her so that no one else... y’know...” 

“Look. Your job... your _only_ job, is to get better. The cops are after her, and they’ll get her. Just leave it to them, and to us… to people equipped to deal with it.” He’d already gotten the full story from Sam and knew there was nothing in it that would help the authorities or anyone else. Hunters knew what the _old lady_ was, but what she was doing with the kids that she kidnapped, that was just bizarre. Dean was leaning toward Bobby’s theory, that she was wack. There were human serial killers, so why not supernatural ones? This one wanted to play dolls, but didn’t care that she killed kids in the process. 

Sam sighed heavily as he hung his head and turned his attention back to his food. “Not like I need your permission anyway,” he muttered half under his breath. 

“For what?” Dean’s eyes drilled into Sam. “For what, Sam?”

Sam glanced up then lowered his eyes again. “Nothin’,” he mumbled. He could wait until his legs were a little better and, if the old lady hadn’t been caught, as soon as Dean dumped him off somewhere, he’d go to the cops and offer to help. He’d seen television shows where information from the last victim helped the perpetrator get caught. Sure, sometimes they had to play bait, but...as much as the thought terrified him, what did he have to lose? 

Dean grabbed Sam’s wrist and spoke again when he looked up. “Tell me.”

Sam’s gaze snapped up to meet Dean’s face before sliding to where his wrist was held in Dean’s vice-like grip. “What do you care anyway?” he demanded, jerking his wrist free.

Dean cocked his head, his eyes darkening with irritation. “What is that supposed to mean? I cared enough to get you out of that place. To get those drugs out of your system. I’ve been taking care of you, day in and day out, so don’t you go and say that to me.” A muscle throbbed in his jaw as he stared Sam down.

Sam sighed and lowered his eyes. “Sorry,” he offered softly. He glanced up at Dean. “I...it’s not you...I just...I’m sorry. Old habits...” he murmured and lowered his gaze again. 

Dean gave a noncommittal nod. He hadn’t gotten an answer, but he was learning the kid was stubborn. Maybe that quality was what had kept him alive when all the other kids had died.

Lifting his gaze back to Dean, Sam licked his lips nervously. “Hey, you wanna go for a,” he paused and ducked his head sheepishly before finishing, “walk when we finish here?” 

“Yeah. There’s a park nearby. Maybe we can practice there,” Dean answered, his mind grappling with how he was going to find the creature before it found Sam. 

* * * 

Sam eyed Dean as he eased him back down into his chair since. They’d been practicing walking now for a good half hour. “Dean,” he began tentatively. “If I ask you somethin’, would you tell me?” He licked his lips. “I - I looked at your laptop when you were outside this morning...” 

Taking a step back and leaning against a tree in the park, Dean looked down at Sam. He’d had a feeling something was bugging him, now he wondered what he’d seen. Rubbing the back of his neck, he gave an upward nod. “And?”

“I saw all the stuff about demons and monsters,” Sam admitted. “And I saw some stuff on these things called Groades,” he said. “Is that what she is? A Groade?” 

Dean had all sorts of bullshit answers ready to throw Sam off the trail, but the kid was too damned smart. Most people would have started off with accusing Dean of being off his rocker or asking if this was some sort of joke. Sam already accepted it as the truth, which meant there was no way in hell Dean could sell him a lie. 

Dean sniffed, struggled with what to answer, but in the end, he settled for the truth. “Yeah, that’s what she is. But you don’t have to worry about that. I’m going to nail her ass, you got that?” he asked, still unsure how much more Sam had learned.

Sam nodded and lowered his gaze for a moment before lifting it once more to Dean. “Can I help?” He pleaded. “I won’t be any trouble and I won’t get in the way.” 

“You can help by doing what I say. Right now, that means you stick with me or when I take off, you stay in the room and don’t … don’t try anything. You’re not well enough for a physical confrontation. To tell you the truth, she could probably kick your ass even if you were. So we keep you safe, and I go track her. That’s the plan.” Dean said, his eyes locking with Sam’s to be certain Sam understood. 

“And what if she gets you?” Sam inquired. “Not to mention, I could probably help. Watch your back. And figure out things. I can read and speak Latin and I know how to do a lot of stuff on a computer.”

“You speak Latin?” Dean pointed at him, his expression one of triumph. “Pegged you for a nerd.” He walked to the chair and went behind Sam, pushing it along the bicycle route that cut through the park. “Tell you what, if I need help with _research_ , I’ll ask. I promise,” he added, trying to placate Sam. 

“And what about other stuff you might need help with?” Sam pressed. His brow creased as he turned around as much as he could in his chair in an attempt to look back at Dean. “And why do you keep saying ‘keep me safe’?” he asked. “She...she’s not gonna come looking for me, is she?” 

“No. No...” Dean lied, only because he’d lived through Sam’s nightmares and didn’t want to bring them back. “Look, she’s a monster. I don’t want you near her. Going with me to ‘watch my back,’ that would put you near her, and it’s just not happening. Now, you got your seat belt tightened,” he asked, groaning as he saw those kids from earlier eyeing them. “They’re selling something, I know it,” he complained as he started to run.

Sam’s lips parted to further question Dean only to have those thoughts driven from his mind at the sight of their newest foes. Gripping the handles, he found himself laughing as Dean started to run. “See what they want,” he suggested between bouts of laughter. “It can’t be that bad, you go after monsters,” he snickered. He tried to twist around more, to see past Dean, at the kids who seemed hard pressed to sell them something.

“Stop encouraging them,” Dean snapped, seeing the wide grin on Sam’s face. 

“Mister, Mister! Hey, Mister!”

The cries and shouts made Dean run a little faster, though Sam’s reactions started to make him laugh. “Sonova....” he complained under his breath and finally let the little _monsters_ catch up.

“We’re selling...” and each of the kids started to shout out what they were selling for charity. Some held up bags of candy canes, others held up chocolate ornaments and pauperie. 

“No, no, no...” Dean shook his head, “no sweet tooths here and don’t--” He grimaced as the cinnamon scented bag was waved under his nose. And then, the kids were blatantly ignoring him and sweet talking Sam.

“Don’t be a sucker,” Dean whispered.

Sam smiled and listened to each child tell him why he should buy what _they_ were selling, as though a person could choose one charity over another when they were all for pretty much the same cause. 

He looked back at Dean with a grin, then turned his attention to the little dark haired girl with ringlets and giant blue eyes. She murmured shyly about her candy canes and even went as far as reaching out to touch Sam’s giant hand with her own tiny one while looking up beseechingly into his eyes. 

Sam’s cheeks hurt from smiling between the kids and Dean’s reactions to them behind him. He finally looked back once more at Dean. “Candy canes wouldn’t be bad,” he murmured with a lift of his brows as he searched Dean’s face, his eyes pleading as hard as the little girl’s. 

“Arghhhh....” Dean made a show of disgust, but his eyes were filled with laughter when some of the kids backed away, and others called him a Grinch. “Yeah well... doesn’t look like you’re scared. Do I really need to turn green.”

Surrounded by screams of ‘yes’ as he handed Sam a few bills.

Sam chuckled at Dean and the kids as he turned his attention back to the tiny girl in front of him and handed her the money. “Two bags please,” he murmured. “I need one for the Grinch here and one for me,” he confided with a playful wink that caused the child to giggle as she nodded sagely and handed him the bags of small candy canes. “Thank you.”

“Thank you and Merry Christmas,” the little girl replied, the words seemingly too grown up for such a small person. 

Sam grinned and nodded. “You too, Merry Christmas.” 

“Ohhh and don’t forget--”

Dean sighed, “Here it comes...” He didn’t know what was coming, but he did know the residents of Christmas Florida were taking this Christmas thing way too far.

“There’s a 20% off coupon, for the Santa’s village. There’s sledding and snow and snowballs you can throw at Mr. Grinch and...”

Crossing his arms, Dean looking disapprovingly at the kids and at Sam. 

Sam’s smile widened the longer the child talked and Dean grumbled behind him until he was unable to stop the laughter that bubbled out from between his lips. “Sounds like fun, we’ll keep that in mind and thank you again for the candy,” he said politely while at the same time dismissing her so that Dean could stop looking like he was ready to blow his top. “Ready Mr. Grinch?” he asked gently as he tilted his head back and looked up at Dean, the action accentuating his Adam’s apple and exposing the smooth column of his throat. 

“Yeah. And if I’m Mr. Grinch, what are you? Mr. Scrumptious?” Dean asked, heat entering his eyes. He waited a moment, until the kids found another victim to bug, and then he lowered his head and gave Sam a slow, upside down kiss. “Even _you_ taste like Christmas,” he mock complained, tasting the peppermint on Sam’s lips.

Sam moaned softly into the kiss, unexpected as it was. He couldn’t help or hide the wide smile that graced his lips when Dean withdrew and a soft chuckle broke from his throat at Dean’s complaint. “Let’s go home, I’ll make it up to you there,” he offered. 

“Oh yeah? I probably shouldn’t ask how,” Dean said, even as his mind rushed ahead of him. It was too late to pull the plug on this, whatever this was that was between them. He was pretty much done fighting it. 

“I’ll think of something I guess,” Sam answered. 

Giving a snort, Dean pushed the chair across the parking lot and then let them into the room. Putting the chain on the door, he dropped the bags of candy cane onto the table. “Want me to help you out of the chair?”

Sam shook his head as he placed his palms down against the arms of the chair. “Nah, I think I can do it. Just don’t laugh if I fall,” he warned with a smile. Pushing up from the chair, it took him a second to find his balance. Then he slowly hobbled toward the bed. It wasn’t graceful by any means, but at least he was up and walking, and that was something. 

“You only look slightly drunk,” Dean teased, grinning. It was hard to believe that only a few days before, Sam had been an unresponsive limp rag doll.

Sam chuckled and nodded. “Great,” he muttered. “Then I’ll only _maybe_ get arrested for underage drinking.” He flopped onto the bed and sighed heavily. Walking was still sapping a lot of his energy. He shifted into a more comfortable position and looked toward Dean. “Would you be too upset if I offered a rain check on my making things up to you until after I took a nap?” he inquired. 

“No. Rest up,” Dean nodded. “And we can talk about your making up to me later. Maybe you’ll be inspired by a dream. You know the kind,” he chuckled, keeping his eyes glued onto Sam. 

Sam’s cheeks warmed and he knew they were a bright shade of red without needing a mirror. Nodding, he closed his eyes and turned his head to the side. “I’ll work on that,” he promised as he allowed himself to fall into an exhausted sleep. 

“You do that.” Dean grinned and went to sit at the table, pulling his messenger bag close. Bobby had promised to email a list of ingredients he’d need to make something like a hex bag, to shroud Sam’s location from the Groade. He’d slip out to some local occult stores, get what he needed, and then be back before Sam even realized he’d ever been gone.

* * *

The motel room was silent, save for the ticking of a clock that hung on the wall across the room from the bed that was occupied by one person, the very one that the Groade was here for. A wicked smile curved her inhuman lips as she crossed the room and moved toward the bed, her steps as silent as the grave. 

She allowed her eyes to rake over the man-child’s sleeping form, pleased by the soft flush to his cheeks and the tousled look to his hair. Her unique doll would be even more beautiful this time. Yes he would.


	7. Chapter 7

Reaching out, she placed her hand over his mouth and maliciously smiled as his eyes shot open wide and she saw the fear in their hazel depths. 

Sam lifted his hands from the bed and tried to fight the woman off, but she was incredibly strong. He tried to scream, but the sound was so muffled that even he had a hard time hearing it. His heart pounded wildly in his chest as he was forced to gulp air in right through the rag she had over his mouth and nose. The scent of chemicals burned his nasal passage and made him tear up. As he thrashed, he knocked the bedside alarm clock to the floor, along with the lamp, kicking his feet and finding his legs twisting and tangling the sheets. 

She watched as he weakened and stopped struggling, his eyes slowly rolling up before they closed. “Welcome home, my pretty, pretty little dolly,” she crooned, stroking his hair. 

* * * 

The old shack was falling apart, its roof caving in and its windows long since been broken out by vandals. It stood alone, covered from view by the mossy trees surrounding it. Only a few days ago, anyone who happened upon it would stay clear. But now... now it twinkled with Christmas lights around the broken windows and across the ripped awnings.

Outside, decorated animals... barely alive, but whimpering softly... dotted the front yard. Some of them had their lips cut out, what remained of their mouths shaping an eerie, forced smile.

Soft music, Christmas bells, rang out from inside the decorated house. A human doll, one that looked like a marionette, sat at a table next to a large pile of bow covered presents. She wore a huge smile on her face, but her eyes were sad and tears rolling down her cheeks left tracks through the cream blush dotted on her cheeks.

In the kitchen, the monster no longer hid inside a human form. She hummed under her breath as she straightened Sam up on an extra-large high chair, one that would sit an adult. She felt his pulse and smiled. “Just tell your heart to keep pumping and you’ll be fine, Dearie. I can’t wait to open presents, can you?”

The monster didn’t wait for an answer, but moved the IV bag out of her way and went to the third doll laying on the table in the kitchen. She sat him up and crooned. “Oh yes, the button makes a fabulous eye. What do you think, Sam?” she asked, forcing the doll to face Sam, so Sam could see the replacement eye. “Simon had one brown eye, and one green. Now he has two browns,” she explained. 

Sam felt his heart somersault in his chest as he looked at the disfigured boy. He swallowed hard and was internally shaking, his shallow, barely-there breaths coming faster. He wanted to close his eyes, wanted to pretend that he was back with Dean, safe in the motel room, but he couldn’t, and the throbbing pain in his cheek reminded him that this nightmare was all too real. He’d tried to scream when this _thing_ had butchered his cheek, telling him that maybe if he wasn’t so pretty, others wouldn’t steal him away again. She’d sliced his cheek open and then stitched it back together with thick black thread and flashed a mirror in front of him so he could see that she was turning him into some sort of Raggedy Andy doll. 

_Dean, please find me,_ he screamed in his mind, powerless to shout out loud. 

“Awww, look at you. You’re smiling,” she beamed at Sam. “Do you want brown eyes too?” She asked, letting the boy drop back down to the table and walking to Sam. Standing in front of him, she sorted through a tin box of buttons, lifting one, then another, and holding them over his right eye as she tried to make up her mind. “I don’t know... purple is exotic, but I am fond of your greens. Hmmm,” she continued sorting.

Sam’s heart hammered harder in his chest and he screamed in his mind for the woman to leave him alone. He’d seen the way she had carelessly removed the other boy’s eye and replaced it with a friggin’ button. 

_Please, Dean, please,_ he mentally cried out. _Oh God, no! No, I don’t wanna be blind. Don’t touch me! Oh God!_

She was about to hold a red button up to his eye, when she cocked her head and dropped it. Reaching out, she picked up Sam’s limp hand. “And what have we here?” she demanded, wresting a candy cane from his strangely closed fist. “Who told you that you could have candy before tea!” she screeched in his face, her own turning a dark shade of red.

* * * 

The minute he’d walked into the motel room, Dean had known everything had gone wrong. The way the bed covers were pulled down onto the floor, the broken lamp and the candy canes scattered all over the floor. 

Still, he’d gone to the bathroom, hoping against hope, that he was somehow wrong. That maybe Sam had tried to walk and fallen, and he was cleaning himself up.

The room was empty. “Damnit!”

Dean put his hand against the door and took a couple deep breaths, pulling himself together. That bitch had Sam. Sweet Sam who’d believed when he’d said he’d keep Sam safe. 

His heart pounded against his ribs. It was never good, it always made you sick to your stomach when you knew someone was trapped by an evil monster. But this was worse. This was... it was personal.

Dean’s jaw clenched. He should have told Sam he had feelings for him. That he...

His arm shot out suddenly, his closed fist connecting to the door so hard, it left a dent. As he shook his hand out, he tried to calm himself. It wasn’t too late. He would find Sam, find him before it was too late.

* * *

Dean marked the locations of the two recent abductions on a map, and added their motel. She had to be somewhere close to all the locations that she grabbed kids from to add to her sick collection of dolls. The area on the map was still quite large. But he knew Groades were loners, and that this one liked to live in the everglades. That she’d have to set up house in a short time, if she was back to her old ways. So he’d looked up abandoned housing, cabins, fishing sheds and the like.

In no time, he was on the back roads, starting his search from the areas closest to the motel, and going out further. Driving like a madman, he left a police car, sirens and all, in his dust. Nothing would slow him down, not with Sam’s life hanging in the balance.

*

Dean had turned nothing up at two cabins, and he couldn’t find the fishing shack he’d been told about. Deciding it might have been torn down, he started to make a u-turn on the dirt road, when he saw shards of orange glass.

Slamming the breaks on, he got out of the car and went to investigate. The glass was from the tail light of a car. He might’a thought there had been an accident, but he’d been stuck in a trunk once and had kicked out the back lights. What if... did Sam even have enough strength?

As he widened his search, he held his breath at the sight of a small candy cane, half buried in the dirt. The same kind Dean had been arm twisted into buying. The same kind that lay all over their motel floor. Had Sam grabbed the other bag?

He started running, looking on the ground, and sonovabitch, further down the road, there was another candy cane glinting under the sunlight. Getting back into his car, he drove excruciatingly slowly, his head half out of the window as he looked for more candy.

At some point, when he couldn’t find anymore, he pulled off the road. He was still in the vicinity of the fishing shack. So maybe it really was around here. He ignored the whisper in his head that told him it was equally possible that Sam had run out of candy canes, or been caught dropping them.

Parking among the trees, he hopped out of the car headed into the woods. Much quicker than he could have hoped, he saw colored lights twinkling through trees. 

When he broke into the clearing, he saw the old vehicle, with the tail light broken out. This was it. This was where she’d brought Sam, he was sure of it.

Dean pulled out his gun, made sure it was loaded and walked past the eerie sight of the dolled animals, to the back of the house. The place was falling apart, the back door was almost off its hinge. Dean pushed against it, and it and had to hold the door to keep it from falling. Tossing it on the ground, he walked inside, gun held out in front of him.

The back rooms were a mess, but just like the other cabin, the living room was decorated. He saw the human doll, a girl, sitting lifeless by the presents. Hoping she was alive, Dean put his hand on his lips. He wasn’t afraid she’d make a noise, not when he knew Sam had been unable to. But he wanted to give her a sign that he knew someone was in that doll shell, alive. 

There was a picture frame on the wall, just between the living room and the kitchen. As Dean moved around, he could not only hear the Groade’s crazy-talk, but he could see her reflection in the glass over the picture. 

Sam was there, but all Dean could see was the back of Sam’s head. The other kid’s eye... That’s what her crazy talk was about, he suddenly realized. 

Grabbing one of her cutesy porcelain vases, Dean threw it across the room, and waited.

Sam’s breath caught in his throat, his heart skipping a beat as hope swelled in his chest. _Please be Dean, please be Dean, please be Dean..._

Sam watched as the woman or whatever she was turned abruptly toward the source of noise, releasing him carelessly. He fell back against the chair with a resounding thud but he didn’t care, at least she was no longer trying to decide what shade of button to replace his eyes with. 

“What have you done now,” the Groade screeched, taking large strides out of the kitchen, intent on chiding the pigtailed doll she’d taken so much time setting up.

Dean wasn’t taking any chances with her getting away again. He’d pulled out a second gun and now walked towards her, squeezing off bullets, each one nailing her head, face, and chest. Even when he reached her, she was still fighting to get back up. 

“Know why you can’t?,” Dean demanded, not an ounce of pity in his eyes or voice. “Cause I used your own damned poison. How does it feel to be paralyzed?”

His gaze went to the kitchen. He was terrified of what he’d find. It was easier taking it out on this monster than facing his fears. Bending over, he pressed the muzzle of his gun on her eye. “I think you’ll look better without it,” he said, squeezing the trigger. 

A moment later, he was in the kitchen, turning Sam toward him. Dean’s blood drained from his face when he saw she’d cross-stitched a smile into one side of Sam’s face. “Oh God... oh God baby,” he pulled Sam close as he undid the damned IV tubes. 

“You’re gonna be okay,” he said, and kept saying as he stroked his hair. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you now.” He kept repeating, reassuring not only Sam, but himself. 

All he wanted was to get Sam out of this place. “I’ll come get you in a minute, he promised, kissing Sam’s temple.

He freed the other two human dolls. The girl’s pulse was as low as Sam’s had been the first time Dean had rescued Sam, so there was a chance she’d live. Dean called Bobby and arranged to have some other hunters come by and take care of the two other kids and the Groade who was still writhing on the floor as her life ebbed away. 

He brought the girl doll into the kitchen, and while he held Sam, he told the others that help was on the way. He wasn’t sure how much any of them understood him, but he knew he was getting through to Sam who’d been back on the IV drip for the shortest time.

Once he heard the roar of the engine of a truck, he picked Sam up and got him out of the cabin. Within moments, he’d instructed the hunters on what they needed to do to get the other kids through this. Then he got Sam to his car and took off. 

This time, on the way back to the motel, he made no ‘goner’ jokes. He didn’t distance himself. Or pretend he had no feelings.

“You’re gonna be okay, Sammy. I promise,” he whispered, sometimes putting his hand on Sam’s thigh, sometimes putting his arm around his shoulder, but always touching him. “And I’m not _dumping_ you anywhere, after you’re better. You got that? I... hell, you’ve grown on me and... well if you want to hear the rest of it, you’re gonna hav’ta just get better and arm twist it outta me.” 

Sam would have closed his eyes in relief at seeing Dean or would have nuzzled into his hugs, his touches, had he been able. Instead all he could do was stare straight ahead. But even as his head flip flopped when they drove over rough roads, Dean’s words and touches warmed him up on the inside. Somehow, even now, he knew that everything would be alright. He did the only thing he could for now, sat there quietly, longing for time to pass so that the poison would be out of his system and he would be able to wrap his arms around Dean once more. 

* * *

This time, Dean had brought the IV equipment back with him. Instead of having to force Sam to drink, he hooked the IV bag up on the headboard, so the drip would clean out Sam’s system.

He explained everything as he worked, wanting Sam to feel safe and to know what was going on. He was sure the last thing Sam wanted was to see the IV still stuck in his veins, but it was a necessary evil.

When he had Sam settled flat on the bed, he pulled a chair close. “Gonna take care of the stitching,” he said softly, brushing Sam’s hair out of his face. “Have to re-do it,” he said, his gaze locking with Sam’s, seeking permission.

Sam felt himself swallow hard, though the gesture took great effort. He tried to move his lips, tried to say something, anything, but couldn’t. His lashes fluttered for a while as he struggled to close his eyes and finally, he managed to lower his eye lids. It was the only thing way he could answer Dean, assure him that he trusted him. 

“Good. Rest. I’ll take care of this,” Dean said. Cracking open a jar of lidocaine, he used a q-tip to brush the numbing cream over the cut starting at the corner of Sam’s lip, dabbing dots up to his cheek, and then in every spot where she’d pulled thread through his skin when she’d cross stitched that grotesque smile onto his face. 

While he waited for the cream to take effect, he stroked Sam’s face. “You were pretty kick ass there, leaving me a candy cane trail. If you hadn’t made me buy them in the morn--” his voice got thick with emotion and stuck in his throat.

The corners of Sam’s lips twitched upward, just slightly, though it hurt where she’d stitched him. His throat convulsed hard and he managed to nod just slightly, though the effort wore him out. 

“No... don’t,” Dean said, glad he’d caught the slight smile, but worried about the pain. “I won’t make you laugh, promise,” he said, taking a little responsibility. “Keep your eyes closed,” he said, picking up a narrow, very sharp dagger.

Dean worked its tip under the yarn stitches on Sam’s face, and carefully cut them in several places, letting Sam have time to recover each time he tugged a little hard. Just thinking about what the Groade had done to Sam, Dean wanted to kill her all over again.

Sam’s lips twitched again, but then he remained motionless. The salve that Dean had put on his skin, which he figured was antibiotic, managed to numb him up a little. It wasn’t enough to kill all the pain, especially once all the thick yarn stitches that that thing had used on him were cut away and his wound opened up. 

A single tear slipped down from the corner of Sam’s closed eye, disappearing into the hair at his temple. Otherwise, he gave no hint of complaint. 

A muscle in Dean’s clenched jaw started to twitch. He said nothing, silently pulling the pieces of yarn out, but if Sam had opened his eyes, he’d have seen dark anger burning in its depths. “I got it all out,” he said, and then started to clean the wound. “It’s not too bad. It’s gonna be fine.” 

Sam’s lips pressed into a thin line and he struggled a moment then managed to nod once more. His fingers twitched where they lay against the mattress before his hand jerked to the side haphazardly, a single digit lifting and catching at the sleeve of Dean’s over shirt. 

Dean’s gaze dropped to Sam’s finger. “Did I hurt you?” he asked. “I’ll put some more lidocaine on it after it’s clean. The antiseptic will sting.” There was nothing he could do about it and he hated seeing Sam wince again. “Sorry...” He quickly put a little more lidocaine over the cut, and then bent down to get the sutures from the medical kit.

When he straightened, he searched Sam’s face. It was expression free, his eyes were shut, but his lashes were fluttering a little. “This nightmare will be over soon. For good,” he promised. With one hand, he pinched the two sides of Sam’s wound together, and started making tiny, neat stitches, that he hoped would barely show.

Sam hummed in his mind and he wasn’t sure if the sound actually came out or not. He fought not to react, to be strong, but the memory of how the cut had gotten there in the first place haunted him. 

He remembered being drugged and promising himself that he would find a way to tell Dean where he was, what had happened. It had taken all the strength he possessed to push himself back from the fathomless blackness that engulfed him when the drug hit his system. He just barely managed to grab the bag of candy, thankful that it had ripped on the edge of the door on the way out to her rickety car. 

Once he’d been tossed in the back, he’d begun to panic, not knowing how he was going to be able to leave a trail when she had stuck him in the trunk. Then his eyes had adjusted and he’d seen light coming through the tail light and gotten the idea. It had taken everything he had to fight the drug off, but he’d been able to kick the light out. Then he’d pushed the candy through the opening every few minutes, between gulps of breath, small rest periods and panic attacks . 

The blackness caught up with him eventually. When he woke, all he could do was hope that trail he’d left would be enough. 

The worst part of waking had been to find the old woman, monster, hovering over him with the butcher knife. She’d been talking about how pretty dolls were stolen by hunters, but ones with imperfections were left with their owners. That had been the moment her knife had slipped between his lips and bitten into skin, cutting deep and without care. He’d screamed inside, but no one could hear except himself, inside his head. 

Tears had formed in his eyes and trickled down his cheeks, their salt stinging the wound. And it had hurt even worse when she’d sewed him up with that thick black thread, her needle piercing his skin over and over as she muttered about how ‘mommy’ was going to make him all better. 

“Shsh... I’m gonna make it all better,” Dean crooned, unknowingly echoing the crazed Groade’s words. “Just a couple more minutes. Hang in there, and then it’ll be smooth sailing. We’ll get the meds in you, then a nice bath. Seemed to help the last time,” he said. “And I solemnly promise not to enjoy myself.” As he spoke, he kept stitching, like a pro, cause this was important.

Sam’s bottom lip quivered at the start of Dean’s words and another tear slipped down the side of his face. But as Dean continued, the trembling passed and Sam lay motionless, concentrating on simply breathing and listening to the comforting sound of Dean’s voice. 

Dean had never been more relieved than when he’d put in the last stitch and tied it off. Dipping his head, he very lightly brushed his mouth over Sam’s. “All done.”

As he put the medical supplies away, he saw Sam’s hand tremble and clutch at the sheets. Quickly, he returned, this time getting on the bed, sitting next to Sam and drawing Sam into his arms, letting him lean against his chest. “I gotcha, I gotcha now,” Sammy, and I’m not letting go,” he said, not knowing whether he was holding Sam too tight, but he needed this too. Needed physical evidence that he had Sam back, that Sam’s heart was still beating, and that he’d be okay. 

“Know what I’m gonna do when I see those pesky kids again? I’m giving each of them ten bucks. No, twenty,” he said, his gaze moving to the candy canes still spilled on the floor next to the table.

Sam smiled on the inside. He allowed himself to relax and fell into an exhausted sleep, knowing he was safe in Dean’s arms. 

* 

Hours later, Dean roused Sam and bathed him, like he had before. Only it was different now. Now he took extra care with Sam. This wasn’t a stranger. This was... well it was the guy he’d fallen hard for. The guy who meant everything to him.

Then he helped Sam drink a little and tucked him in bed next to him. “We’ll have you walking and talking by New Years,” he promised. “G’night Sam.” Feeling Sam’s fingers clench around his tee shirt, Dean smiled. It meant Sam was getting some mobility back.

*

Sam woke sometime in the middle of the night. The motel room was dark save for the moonlight coming in from the window. It took him a few seconds to realize that he’d opened his eyes without having to struggle. He turned his head and smiled with satisfaction, then with warmth and love as he allowed his gaze roam over Dean’s features, lax in sleep.

He tentatively tried to roll onto his side and was surprised and thankful that he could. He tugged at Dean as he snuggled closer and buried his face against Dean’s neck, pressing soft kisses against the tender skin. 

“Figured maybe I could make it up to you now,” Sam suggested, his voice hoarse from sleep as well as arousal from the thoughts that were going through his head. 

Dean’s eyes fluttered open as he heard Sam’s voice. Instinctively, he closed his arm around Sam, gathering him closer. “What... what do you owe me.” The other shoe fell. “You’re talking... you’re speaking!” Pulling his head back a little, he stared at Sam, whose face was clearly visible under the moonlight pouring into the room.

Sam’s lips curved into a smile, although it made him grimace a little with pain. “Remember, I said I’d make it up to you, about the candy canes?” he rasped softly. “Thought maybe now might be a good time,” he whispered, pushing his hips toward Dean, his hardened cock sliding against Dean’s hip. 

“You’re... your moving.” Suddenly very aware of Sam’s arousal pressing against him, Dean sucked in his breath. “Really... moving,” he added, rolling forward to give Sam more pressure. “I was scared. So damned scared...” he admitted, lightly kissing the uninjured corner of Sam’s mouth. “Never been that scared before.”

Sam huffed out a soft humorless chuckle as he nodded. “Yeah, me too,” he admitted. “It was bad enough the first time. I didn’t want to die, but now,” he murmured. “I actually had a _reason_ to want to live.” 

Blushing fiercely at his admission, Sam ducked for a moment, before lifting his gaze again. “I was afraid you wouldn’t come. That you might not find the candy canes.” He licked his lips. “If you hadn’t come when you did....” he shook his head and frowned. “I might have wound up worse off than this. She wanted to remove my eyes and replace them with buttons.” 

Dean’s grip tightened, his teeth grinding together as he dealt with the emotions running through him. “She’s gone now. She will _never_ hurt you again,” he swore, easing his bruising grip. “I’m sorry I didn’t keep you safe like I promised.” His chest rose and fell as he struggled with what might have happened to Sam if he’d gotten there a few moments later, or if Sam had run out of candy canes, or if some animal had eaten up the candy trail he’d left. “I heard what she said. I can’t imagine...”

Sam lowered his gaze to Dean’s lips before lifting them again to his eyes. “Let’s not talk about that right now,” he said. “You never answered ... about my making it up to you.” Although there was a naughty glint in his eyes, his cheeks were warm with embarrassment. 

“You think I’m gonna say no to that?” Dean asked, feeling his lips burn at the way Sam looked at him. “Just don’t hurt yourself,” he nodded towards Sam’s mouth, then rolled onto his back and smiled. “Start any time.” He wondered what Sam had in mind, but knew it wouldn’t take much to get him fired up, especially when it came to Sam. 

Sam couldn’t help smiling at the warning, even though it hurt like hell and he regretted the movement. Lifting up onto one forearm, he wrapped the other around Dean and dipped his head, carefully brushing his lips along the column of his lover’s throat, kissing him softly and allowing his tongue to dart out and swirl against the sensitive skin. 

“C... careful,” Dean rasped, tilting his head back to give Sam more access. And had Sam just made him stutter? He tried to tell himself to get a grip, but instead, found himself slowly being swept away into a sea of erotic sensations. 

Sam nodded against the side of Dean’s throat, his warm breath fanning against the tender flesh. He nipped at the delicate skin before he allowed his teeth to scrape against it, cringing only a little in pain from his cut getting pressed against Dean’s skin. Moving his mouth lower, he sucked softly on the side of Dean’s neck, knowing he’d leave a small mark. The thought made him want to smile, but he remembered not to. 

Pulling his arm from around Dean, he slid his hand down the length of his lover’s bare chest and stomach before toying briefly with the dusting of silky hairs that led downward beneath Dean’s boxers. He slid his hand upward again and allowed his index finger to circle one of his lover’s nipples, teasing the rapidly hardening bud. Then he then slid his hand back down and, with the darkness hiding his bright flush, he boldly cupped Dean through the well-worn fabric of his boxers, groaning at the press of Dean’s hard cock against his palm.

The sudden bolt of pleasure had Dean arching up off the mattress. His breaths came out in soft gasps and his heart was beating out of control. His gaze followed the trail Sam’s hand had blazed down his chest and stomach, his breath catching at the sight of the large hand covering his dick and moving ever so slightly.

He licked his lips and gave a soft groan. “Again,” he demanded, moving his own hand over Sam’s to encourage him. “Look at me. Please,” he asked, his eyes darting up to Sam’s face. 

Sam slowly, reluctantly lifted his head though his eyes remained downcast as he worried his bottom lip despite the sting. But he did as Dean asked, squeezing him gently but firmly. 

“I really don’t want...” he mumbled with a shake of his head before turning his face away so that Dean couldn’t see the long nasty cut that marred his face. 

“Sam...” Dean let out a hot breath. Reaching up, he cupped Sam’s chin and gently forced him to stop hiding his face. “Once it heals and we get the stitches out, it’ll hardly show.” He gave Sam a look, trying to reassure him, but ended up biting his lip as more heat surged to his cock. “I love you.” The words just tumbled out of him.

Sam fought Dean’s touch trying to hide his face despite the way his lover tried to reassure him. But Dean’s words had him snapping his head back and staring dumbfounded back at Dean. 

As he processed what Dean said, Sam swallowed hard and his lips slowly curved into a wide smile as tears pricked the corners of his eyes. He groaned in pain and grimaced slightly. “I love you too,” he quickly said with wide eyes realizing how long he had taken to say anything and not wanting Dean to regret his words. 

He dipped his head, wanting so badly to crush his lips to Dean’s but settling for numerous small, open mouthed, gentle kisses. His hand moved up Dean’s shorts, to the elastic waistband, and darted inside. He wrapped his fingers around Dean’s warm, hard flesh and slid his fist along his length once before squeezing him again. 

The light, teasing touches of Sam’s lips against his own, had Dean kissing back, just as lightly, and sometimes just barely sucking Sam’s lower lip between his own. He started to thrust into Sam’s fist, his eyes rolling back when Sam squeezed him just right. He slide his hand up Sam’s pajama clad thigh, to his ass, then pressed his fingers slightly into the cleft of Sam’s ass, a small chuckle leaving him when he felt Sam tense a little. 

Sam pulled his head back, staring almost fearfully down at Dean. He swallowed hard and his tongue darted out to lick across his lips. “Remember what I said before?” he inquired softly, a dark blush staining his features. “I - I wasn’t lying. F-f-first time,” he stammered nervously. 

“I know,” Dean gave a nod but didn’t withdraw his fingers. “Just exploring,” he said, giving Sam a moment and then moving his hand again, this time dipping it under the waistband of Sam’s pajama pants and shorts, to caress his bare ass. “Only fair, what with you exploring me, and all.” He just barely held in a chuckle at Sam’s expression. He was sure if he turned the light on, he’d find Sam blushing. 

Sam ducked his head though he couldn’t bring himself to release Dean’s cock or to pull his hand from inside his boxers. Instead he swiped the pad of his thumb across the head of Dean’s cock, smearing the precome that pearled there. He stroked his fisted hand along Dean’s length, squeezing each time his fist brushed over the sensitive head. 

“Wish I could take you in my mouth,” he murmured against the side of Dean’s neck only to turn the shade of a beet at his wanton words. 

Dean lifted his head and kissed him. “I can wait. It’ll be like a Christmas present under a tree.” He made a face. “I did _not_ just say that.” He was disgusted with himself, horny, and he wanted Sam to be just as hard. 

Pulling his hand out of Sam’s pants, he started to undo the buttons of his PJ’s, sweeping his hand across every inch of Sam’s chest as the material fell away. He tugged on Sam, wordlessly showing him he wanted Sam to straddle him, though the instant Sam’s hand fell away from his cock, Dean was in agony. “Take it off,” he suggested, nodding at the pajama pants.

Sam chuckled softly and wiggled out of the pants and his boxers, tossing them and his top as far as possible across the room. “You’re the one that kept putting all those clothes on me,” he teased. “I usually just sleep in my boxers,” he said as he climbed up on Dean, straddling his hips and gasping softly at the brush of his lover’s cock against his bare ass, only the thin material of Dean’s boxers separating them. 

“Fuck...” Dean’s fingers bit into Sam’s hips as he tried to control his reaction. “Dude... you were sick, and I... I’m weak. Wanted to be sure I’d keep my hands off.” Not anymore though. He didn’t care that he was almost a decade older than Sam, or that he was a helluvalot more experienced. This was right. It was. And he wasn’t giving it up no matter what anyone thought. 

He ran his hands up along Sam’s thighs until they met at the juncture. Giving Sam a slow, easy smile, he closed his hand around Sam’s dick, and slid his free palm up and down his chest, causing Sam to rock against his own achingly hard dick. “But I’m all for easy access.”

Sam tried to laugh but all that came out was a long, low moan, as he thrust his hips and rocked back against the pressure of Dean’s cotton clad cock pressing at his ass. His eyes grew heavy lidded as he gazed down at Dean and felt his own nipples pebbling under his lover’s touch each time Dean’s hand slid across them. “Not...fair...” he moaned softly. “Want to... touch you too...” 

“Oh... you are... you will,” Dean managed, squeezing Sam a little harder and being rewarded by his rocking motions. As they moved back and forth and touched each other, he couldn’t help imagining Sam sitting on his cock, taking him. That day would come. At the rate Sam was learning, it would be soon. 

He lightly scraped his blunt nail over Sam’s nipple, then tweaked it. Sliding his hand behind Sam’s back, he slowly pulled him down, far enough that he could lick the area better. When he let go, and Sam’s ass slipped back over his hard cock, Dean cursed under his breath. Bringing his knees up, he pushed Sam back a little more, so he was right over his dick. 

“So good... so fucking good,” Dean rasped, his fist gliding faster up and down Sam’s length now that it was covered in precum. “Why? Why me?” he asked softly.

Sam was so lost in pleasure that Dean’s words barely penetrated the passion fog that cloaked his brain. “Wha?” he asked, sounding almost drunk. He sucked in a breath and his head lolled back, exposing the long column of his throat. “More,” he breathed. “I wanna feel you in me,” he panted as he rocked against Dean’s cock while continuing to thrust his own dick into his lover’s fist. 

Forgetting his questions, Dean simply groaned, “Oh.... God... Do you even know what you’re doing to me?” His stomach clenched tight, his cock pulsed against Sam’s ass, the thin material of his briefs now drenched in precum. “When you’re ready,” Dean promised, moving his hand down to cup and squeeze Sam’s balls as he stroked, and lifting his own hips up, grinding harder against Sam. 

Sam groaned as his back arched and his head tipped back so far, it looked like he was about to bend over backwards. “Ready now,” he panted with a long, low groan. His breaths came in ragged pants from between parted lips and his nipples stood out like two points, his hips thrusting desperately into Dean’s fisted hand. “Please, Dean,” he rasped thickly. “I want...I need you...” 

Dean had to close his eyes or he’d have come right there. But he couldn’t keep them closed, not for long. He had to watch... watch Sam riding him, just like a pro. The only thing that would get them closer was if he was inside Sam. Shuddering, he bit his lip. 

“Too far gone, baby. Have to get you ready. First time.” He managed to work one hand under Sam, and slipped his fingers between his ass cheeks. Each time Sam rocked, his fingertip caught against Sam’s sensitive hole. 

A shudder rocked through Sam’s body with each touch of Dean’s fingertip against his hole. He couldn’t help the too loud groans that broke from his throat. He couldn’t help making the sounds, and he hoped Dean didn’t care. 

Sam’s cock pulsed in his lover’s hand and he felt heat spiraling through his body and pooling low in his gut. He moved his hand over Dean’s, trying to pry Dean’s hand away because he was afraid he’d ruin everything. “No more,” he panted. “M’gonna come...” he whined softly, breathlessly. 

His fingers frantically pulled at Dean’s though his hips seemed to have a mind of their own continuing to thrust into his lover’s fisted hand before his body pushed back against those wicked fingers teasing at his hole. 

“So come. We can do this over and over again,” Dean said, refusing to allow Sam to pull away and stroking him faster. Pressing the pad of his middle finger up against Sam’s hole, at first, he let Sam push against it. When he pushed hard enough that the tip of his finger disappeared inside him, Dean started to help, working his finger slowly inside, “Shshsh... go slow,” he whispered, though he could see desperation written all over Sam’s face and wasn’t certain his words were getting through. 

Sam had been close, so damn close but then when he had pushed back too hard against Dean’s finger and the tip had slipped inside the burn of that had his head jerking upright and his eyes popping open wide. 

“Dean...” he whimpered as his body trembled.

He was torn between continuing to push back as he thrust and scurrying off Dean’s lap all together. A low groan ripped from his throat as his head lolled back again before falling forward, hanging between his shoulder blades. 

“He reached for Dean with one hand though his eyes were closed and which he felt the side of his lover’s face, he opened his eyes to meet Dean’s in the dark, a deep blush stealing over his features. “H-h-help me...” he panted. “I dunno what to do...” 

Dean’s lips parted. He gave a nod, then licked his lips. Slowly, he started to sit up, rolling Sam off him and onto his back in the process. Reaching for the nightstand, he quickly grabbed the tube of Vaseline he’d been using to keep Sam’s lips from chapping. 

Crouching over Sam, he lifted him slightly, then blanketed his body with his own. As he rocked against Sam, rubbing his hard dick against Sam’s, he worked his finger back inside Sam. He went slow, feathering light kisses across the corner of Sam’s mouth, and his eyes, and then his throat. “Just enjoy it,” he whispered, thrusting his hips a little harder and finding a steady rhythm that would bring both of them right back to the edge.

Sam panted as his neck arched and he nodded mindlessly, thrusting desperately up against his lover. He pushed back against Dean’s finger and hissed out a breath only to thrust harder the next time and try again. Slowly the burn started to ease and it left him pushing back against the single digit as hard as he was thrusting up against Dean. 

“Oh yeah, oh God, yessssss,” Sam hissed breathlessly. 

“Don’t forget to breathe.” If he could have, Dean would have teased Sam a little more. But Sam’s reactions were getting to him. _Really_ getting to him, and he was fighting to keep control. One of them had to. “Yeah... that’s it,” he gave a sharp thrust, letting out a deep moan. 

Lowering his head, he kissed along Sam’s neck, doing his best to push his finger a little deeper. “Lift up,” he whispered, then slightly curled his finger inside Sam’s tight heat. Course all he could think about was being inside him. “God...” He started to rock harder, shifting his position, then reared his head up as he brushed his finger tip over Sam’s prostate, needing to see his reaction.

Sam tried to follow Dean’s instructions but it felt like he was trying to move in quick sand and his body wasn’t following his orders as he writhed against the bed under Dean. Shocked by the sudden strange sensation from Dean’s finger touching something deep inside him, he sucked in an audible breath. His cock pulsed hotly, precome leaking down the side. 

“Oh my God,” Sam nearly shouted as he clung to Dean, throwing his arms around him, his fingers clawing at and digging into the tender flesh of Dean’s back and shoulders. 

“Easy...” Biting his lip, Dean gave Sam a little more, loving his every reaction. “Lock your legs around my waist,” he said, a fine sheen of sweat covering him. The moment Sam’s legs were around him, Dean started to move hard against him. With his knees pressing into the mattress, he could lift up and Sam lifted with him, making it easier for Dean to push his finger in and out of him. “So good, Sam... ungh...” 

Sam sucked in a breath as he felt his ass leave the bed, but he pushed back needily against Dean’s finger wanting to feel that sensation again. “More, please,” he nearly whined. “Do what you did,” he demanded, his head thrashing against the pillow as his hips moved frantically. A fine sheen of sweat covered his own body and his inner muscles clenched and released around the invading finger rhythmically. 

“Careful... still hurt,” Dean whispered. Seeing a little blood seeping from the stitches he’d put in, he almost stopped. But something told him, Sam needed this. Not just because they were in the heat of the moment, but as a way to push back against all the bad shit that had happened to him. 

“I got you, got you baby,” Dean whispered over and over, giving Sam everything he had, thrusting against him, grinding their cocks together, and brushing the sweet spot inside him. Each time he did, Sam’s grip on him tightened, his heels digging into Dean’s lower back. It made Dean go faster, spiral harder toward release. “Come with me... F... Sam... Sam,” he ground out as he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to buy a few more seconds. 

Sam’s back arched and his head pressed into the pillow beneath his head. His muscles tensed, clamping hard around Dean’s finger. He grit his teeth and squeezed his eyes tightly closed just before he came with a loud cry, his spunk shooting up and splattering over both their bellies. 

Coming hard at the same time, Dean saw white explosions behind his eyelids. He kept rocking for a long time, slower and slower, his body sliding against Sam’s, spreading their hot cum between them. Pulling his finger out, he wiped it off, then started to feather kisses across Sam’s lips and only stopping after he’d ridden the last wave of his orgasm. 

He felt Sam’s legs unlock, releasing him. Smiling, he started to roll off. “So tell me Sam, do you wake up in the middle of the night often?” Though he was drained, he still managed to give Sam a heated leer.

Sam’s eyes opened to mere sleepy slits and a smile softly curved his lips. He lifted a hand to the stitches and pulled his fingers away, looking at them and seeing the dark, wet stain on them. Allowing his hand to fall, he looked back at Dean. “Only when I have someone sleeping next to me,” he smirked slightly, fighting the sleep that tugged at his spent, sated body. 

“Should I be jealous of all your brothers at the orphanage?” Dean asked. Letting his own eyes close, he continued. “You never answered. Why me, and not one of them or...” he lifted his hand up off the mattress, gesturing then dropped back down on his stomach.

Sam’s brow creased and he opened his eyes a little wider to search his lover’s face. “You actually think that orphanages are full of gay boys looking to hook up?” he huffed. “Not hardly. It’s more like it’s the reason I kept getting my ass kicked.”

He allowed his eyes to slip closed as he gave a shrug. “Why you? Cause... I dunno... maybe I like you or somethin’,” he teased. “Plus, it’s not like anyone else had ever asked.”

Dean gave a snort, then rolled to his side and closed his arm around Sam. “Here I thought maybe it was the _hero_ thing...” Dropping a kiss on Sam’s shoulder, he made a vow. “Sam Campbell, by the time I’m done with you, _no one_ will ever be able to kick your ass again.”

Sam heh-ed out a soft chuckle, “What are ya gonna do, feed me super energy pills?” he mused almost drunkenly as his eyes slipped closed once more, his words slurred and sleepy. “I love you,” he sighed as he snuggled up along Dean’s side and finally allowed the sleep that had been tugging at him to take him under.


	8. Chapter 8

The incessant knocking, and the damned phone, got Dean out of bed. “Yeah Bobby?” he said, as he checked through the peephole and sighing, opened the door. The only reason he opened it was to get rid of the kids and make sure they didn’t wake Sam up.   
“Merry Christmas, Mewwy Christmas,” they yelled in high pitched voices that startled Dean.  
 _So much for not waking Sam up._

 

“Oh you got company, that’s great. I was just callin’ to say Merry Christmas,” Bobby’s gruff voice said in his ear as Dean started to deny it.

“Nah... And it’s not Chri....”

“Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas, Merry--”

“Alright!” Dean’s hand sliced through the air. “Now beat it...”

“We want to speak to the _nice one._ ” One of the kids announced, taking a step into the room and craning her neck to find Sam.

“The nice one? Who you holed up with, Boy? Thought you hated Christmas?” Bobby demanded.

“No one... I do... I...”

“Sam?” The little girl called out.

“Sam?” Bobby echoed. “Dean you don’t mean that boy. Are you out of your fucking--”

“I’ll call you back.” Dean shut the phone, then turned on the kids. “What part of ‘beat it’ don’t you get? Don’t make me take my g--”

“Dean,” Sam chastised gently as he shook his head at his lover before his sleepy gaze swung to the girl. “Merry Christmas,” he greeted with a warm yet somewhat sleepy smile.

Dean gave a groan, wondering what they were about to get suckered into. “Don’t you kids have presents to open,” he asked.

“We did, in the morning.” While the kids called out what they’d gotten, Dean checked the time. It was afternoon already! Course the instant he saw the time, his stomach growled.

All the kids were talking at once and inching their way inside towards the bed, one of them was even pushing the wheelchair towards it. “Hey.... Hey!” Dean shouted, causing them to stop. Well not all of them, not the little girl who pushed the chair up to Sam’s bed.

“There’s sledding in the park, with lots and lots of snow...”

“There’s no snow,” Dean said. “This is Florida.”

“Christmas miracle,” she answered, without taking a breath. “Come on Sam, we’ll push you.”

Sam smiled wide at the pixie of a girl and he started to throw back the covers only to remember that he was naked beneath them and wound up tugging them up higher, nearly to his neck.

“Um, why don’t you kids give Dean and me a couple minutes to get dressed and brush our teeth and all that and then we’ll meet you in the park,” he suggested with a glance up at Dean.

“Yay!”

Dean made a face at all the shouting. “How much is this gonna cost...?”

“It’s for a really really really good cause,” a boy answered.

“Yeah... yeah...”

“And we can take turns pushing Sam. We’ll wait outside.”

“Sam doesn’t need to be pushed, he’ll walk,” Dean told ‘em. Seeing the look on their faces, he nodded at Sam. “Show ‘em. Sam?” 

Sam’s eyes widened as he stared up at Dean horrified. He swallowed hard as he glanced back down at the kids before a nervous chuckle pushed past his lips and he lifted his gaze once more to Dean.

“Um, how about I show them _later_ ,” he growled softly through clenched teeth as he glanced down at himself pointedly.

“You’re lyin....”

Chagrined, Dean motioned with his hand. “Just show ‘em now... oh... right.” There was a reason Sam was turning several shades of red. “Okay, everyone out,” he said pointing at the door. “Sam’ll walk out...”

“It’s impossible,” the little girl insisted, as she walked out the door with her friends.

“It’s a Christmas miracle,” Dean answered in a mocking tone as he shut the door behind them. Sam released a breath of both relief and irritation as he glared up at Dean. “Get up and show them, Sam?” he inquired with a lift of his brows. “That poor little girl would have been traumatized.” 

“How should I know you sleep in the nude,” Dean chuckled. “Alright... get up and ‘show _me’_ , Sam.” He waggled his brows.

Sam’s eyes started to widen at Dean’s audacity. Had he forgotten who it was that took his pajamas off? It was useless though. Shaking his head in exasperation, he huffed, “very funny.”

Throwing back the covers, Sam pulled to his feet and felt a little thrill go through him at the fact he was actually standing without the fear of crumpling to the floor. He looked over at Dean and made sure to give the other guy a show as he sauntered toward the bathroom, swinging his ass on purpose before entering the bathroom. 

Dean cocked his head to the side and openly leered, enjoying Sam’s show. “Joining you in the shower,” he called out, a smile pasted on his face as he went to make a pot of coffee.

* * *  
They’d left Christmas, Florida behind, or so Dean thought until he saw the bumper sticker someone had slapped on the back of his car. He’d sworn so loud and for so long, that he was sure he’d scared the hell outta Sammy.

Now they were in Ohio, in the real snow. He’d rented a cabin, courtesy of some wannabe pool shark who's wad of cash he’d won. 

Dean had also gotten things squared away with Bobby. The thing with Sam, a victim, Bobby didn’t like it much. But weirdly, after talking to Sam, and then with him again, it looked like Bobby was cool with the idea of him having found someone he wanted in his life. Bobby had just told him to be ‘happy’ and not to ‘fuck things up.’ 

Well that was Dean’s plan. He wanted to go slowly with Sam. Course like every teenager who thought he was in love, Sam was trying to race ahead. 

It was New Year’s Eve now, and they’d eaten dinner. The apple pie was warming up in the oven, its scent permeating the air. Dean could almost taste it already.

“I’m getting more wood for the fire,” Dean said, shaking his head at Sam who was setting the iPad up so they could watch fireworks or something.

Sam nodded in response, his eyes glued to the screen in front of him a moment longer before lifting to smile at Dean. “Okay,” he agreed. “Be careful,” he murmured. “And don’t be long,” he added, his words a tad more husky as he allowed his eyes to skim over Dean’s body before meeting his eyes once more.

Sam knew he was blushing, and he hated it, but he also knew that Dean couldn’t mistake his message. He waited until the door closed behind Dean before returning his attention to the iPad, searching for a news broadcast of the countdown in Madison Square Garden. For some reason, the cabin’s television wasn’t working right and only seemed to pick up pay per view movies and porn.

*

The look he’d gotten from Sam could have melted an ice cube, thought Dean, as he lifted the axe and chopped down some of the wood they’d dragged to the cabin earlier in the day. He’d bet there would be lots of fireside snuggling in his future. And seduction. Sam had been trying to get him to go ‘all the way’ even though he’d said they ought to wait a little. Sam was hard to resist though. Real hard. Especially since he had it in his mind that Dean had ‘done everything,’ so he’d get bored with Sam if they were to wait. Hopefully he’d gotten through to Sam last night.

Grabbing a big armful of wood, Dean headed back up the stairs of the front porch. Managing to get to door open, he stomped the snow off his boots, then headed to the fire. “You think marshmallows go good with apple pie?” he asked over his shoulder, as he piled the wood onto the fire.

“Yeah sure,” Sam responded distractedly as he scrolled and then gave a triumphant little shout once he had the party in New York in perfect view on the iPad. His brow creased a moment later and he lifted his head to look up at Dean curiously.

“Wait, what? Apple pie and marshmallows?” he inquired, his lip curling with distaste at the thought.

It took him a second or two but then his mind filled in the blanks of just what they could _do_ with the melted marshmallows and his eyes widened as he nodded vigorously. “Hell yeah, I want Marshmallows with my pie,” he assured Dean. “Definitely.”

Dean gave him the thumbs up. “Can’t go wrong with apple pie, it goes with everything. How long we got till midnight?” he asked, standing up and watching as Sam put the iPad on a stand so they could see the festivities.

“Oh, a while yet actually,” Sam responded with a slightly sheepish grin and a shrug. “It’s only ten thirty, just didn’t want us to miss anything.” 

“Ever had champagne?” Dean asked, giving him a look as he headed for the kitchen. He’d picked up some sparkling white wine just for New Years.

Sam shook his head. “Wine coolers, beer, never champagne,” he replied. “Is it good?” he asked as he pulled away from his iPad and stood to his feet, crossing the distance between himself and Dean.

“Over rated but fun for tonight,” Dean answered. He piled some marshmallows into a large bowl, then got the two slices of pie out of the oven. “This looks good,” he announced, his mouth watering. “Where do you wanna eat?” 

How about over by the fire?” Sam suggested. “We could grab that thick comfy afghan and spread it out on the floor. Oh and bring some sticks or somethin’ so we can roast the marshmallows,” he directed with an impish smirk. “Ever eaten a marshmallow out of someone else’s mouth?” He asked with a lift of his brows.

Dean almost tripped over his own feet. “Ah... no. You?” he asked, his eyes tracking Sam as Sam went to get the afghan.

Sam grinned as he turned, hiding his smile from Dean’s view. He gave a nod and hummed out a vague response before turning with the blanket in hand, his smile gone as his eyes met Dean’s. “Good, it’ll be new for you then,” he murmured.

“Yeah, it will.” Dean took a couple steps towards the coffee table, “But Sammy, nothing tastes better than you. Just so you know.”

Sam met Dean’s gaze and a proud, loving smile curved his lips. “I love you too, Dean,” he murmured.

He gave his head a jerk toward the fireplace before spreading the afghan and getting comfortable. He looked up expectantly, waiting for Dean to join him. Once Dean sat down, Sam leaned in and mouthed against Dean’s ear, “I’ve never eaten marshmallows out of anyone’s mouth either.”

Pulling his head back far enough to be able to look into Dean’s face when he turned his head toward him. “I just...y’know, wanted you to know.”

Dean smiled and kissed Sam lightly. “I volunteer to be your first. And last.” Reaching over Sam, he grabbed the long sticks he’d brought over. “Can’t believe you’re makin’ me almost forget about the pie,” he said. 

Sam chuckled at Dean’s apparently love affair with pie, but as long as that was the only thing that he had to share Dean with...well, that and the car, Sam figured he had it pretty good. He licked his lips and reached for Dean’s hand, holding it within his own and lacing their fingers together. He gave it a squeeze and leaned in, brushing a kiss across Dean’s lips.

“Yeah, I know, you need this hand to eat your pie with but,” Sam murmured with a shrug. “I just wanted first dibs,” he explained huskily. “Before the pie got its turn.”

“You’re jealous of pie... I’m jealous of marshmallows,” Dean laughed, then dipped his head down and stole a real kiss. But before Sam could deepen it, he pulled away. “Pie,” he reminded him. “And we gotta stick the marshmallows in.”

Sam chuckled and nodded. “Okay,” he agreed. He reluctantly released Dean’s hand so that he could eat his precious pie while he used the freedom to skewer a couple of marshmallows and held the sticks into the fire.

“Open... and don’t say I don’t love you, I never share my pie,” Dean said, bringing a forkful to Sam’s mouth.

Sam’s eyes lowered to the fork before lifting to Dean’s with a soft snicker. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he promised, opening his mouth.

After Sam started to chew, Dean dipped his head and licked Sam’s lips. “And now I’ve had pie from your mouth. Damn fine pie!” he announced, reaching behind him to get a couple cushions off the sofa and put them behind their backs.

Sam chuckled, nearly snorting the pie in the process. He shifted to snuggle closer to Dean. “So, is this the way your life is like? Hunting those...monsters and then...what? This? Sitting in front of a fire eating pie and,” his face flushed, “making love to your jailbait boyfriend,” he asked with an impish grin.

“Stop reminding me,” Dean growled, though there was a spark of laughter in his eyes as he shoved pie into his mouth. “I don’t usually stop to smell the flowers and... build fires,” he said, still chewing, “but … what you said... sounds like a plan.” His eyes slid down Sam’s body, then met his eyes. 

Sam smirked softly and nodded. “Sounds like a helluva plan,” he echoed.

He turned toward Dean and shifted the sticks in his hands to hold them both in one while moving his other hand away and placing it high on Dean’s thigh, where his thigh met his groin. He allowed his thumb to trace along the ridge of Dean’s cock through his jeans as he gazed hotly at his lover.

“Y’know, I think tonight would be a good night,” he mused huskily. “What with bein’ New Years and all...”

“Every night’s a good night.” Dean gave a soft grunt, and released his breath. His eyes flew down to Sam’s hand, then moved back to his eyes. “You mean...” He licked his lips. “We talked about that.”

Sam nodded only to heave a heavy sigh of frustration at the last of Dean’s words. “No, you talked, I listened,” he corrected. “What if I don’t care how old you are or how old I am?” he argued. “I’m old enough to get sent off to war, I’m sure as hell old enough to make love to someone if I want to.”

“And just what the hell have we been doing all this time?” Dean demanded. It didn’t matter what he said, Sam was fixated it seemed. “I like kissing you, and touching you and.... when you put your mouth on me, you blow my mind,” he said, meaning every word. “I thought it was the same for you.”

Sam lifted his hand from Dean’s leg to run his fingers back through his hair. In the next second he smelled burning marshmallows and had to quickly pull them out of the fire, blowing the fire out before returning to the argument that never seemed to end.

“I _do_ feel the same way, but I want...I want to feel you _in_ me,” he explained, struggling to appear casual, despite the blush stealing over his features. “Don’t you want me? I mean _really_ want me?”

“I want you,” Dean said, his voice deep and raspy. He reached out and ran his hand through Sam’s hair, then curled his fingers around the strands and tugged him close, kissing him hard, in a way he never had before.

When he let go, he spoke again. “I thought we would work our way up to the rougher stuff.”

A soft whimper pushed past Sam’s lips when Dean reeled him in, but it wasn’t out of fear or pain, it was out of need. He returned Dean’s nearly brutal kiss that left his lips tingling. “And just how long am I supposed to wait? Until I’m thirty something?” Sam asked softly. “Please, Dean, I want you so bad.”

“Thirty,” Dean snorted. “I wouldn’t let...” his words fell away at the look in Sam’s eyes. Was there anything he could refuse Sam? He’d tried and failed to keep him at arm’s length. Then he’d tried and failed to keep from touching and kissing him. And he’d been so damned determined to get Sam back to school and on track, living a regular life, but that damned look... and everything changed. Did he _really_ have a chance in hell of making Sam wait? “Sammy...” he breathed.

Sam leaned in as he placed the marshmallow sticks down carefully and moved both hands, one lifting to cup the side of Dean’s jaw while the other moved to boldly cup his lover’s cock. “It’s okay, I know what I’m doing,” he whispered.

“I know you do,” Dean turned his face slightly and kissed Sam’s palm. “I just... there’s no need to rush... to play catch up, just because I’m... If you were with some kid, it would take you months, maybe even a year to get there,” he said, though his body was reacting to Sam’s touches and it was hard to come up with logical arguments when he couldn’t deny he wanted it... this... too. 

Sam scoffed. “You really don’t know much about today’s kids, do you?” he mused with a soft chuckle. “If I was with anyone else we’d of screwed at least a half a dozen times by now,” he reasoned with a shrug. “It’s just the way it is now-a-days.”

“Dude... I’m ten years older, not a century,” Dean answered, a bit stung. “And I don’t care how ‘it’ is... ‘you’ haven’t done any of that. Ungh...” he bit his lip as Sam squeezed him again. “Tell me why... why you don’t want to wait,” Dean asked, unable to carry on the argument.

“Why do you _want_ to wait?” Sam countered.

“I’ve told you already. I feel like I’m rushing you into... into doing things it might have taken you much longer to do, to experience.” He put his hand over Sam’s, pressing it down over his throbbing cock. “A little over a week ago, you never touched someone like this.”

Sam sighed. “Yeah and before that I never had some crazy Groade capture me and try to turn me into her personal Holly Hobbie,” he retorted. “It’s not like I don’t want to do it, I _do_!” he exclaimed. “I guess I just want it more than you do,” he added forlornly.

“Cut it out. You’re not guilting me into this,” Dean half growled and half moaned. “You _know_ I want you.”

The corner of Sam’s lips quirked upward into a lopsided smile. “Yeah?” he asked huskily, “Prove it,” he ground his hand harder over his lover’s cock.

“You want to see fireworks?” Dean asked thickly? Damn, Sam knew how to get to him. “You want to ride me until you see them?”

A deep blush stole over Sam’s features and his throat convulsed as he swallowed, though he nodded at Dean’s suggestions and the picture that they invoked in his mind. “God yeah,” he breathed. “Wanna feel you come inside me,” he rasped softly.

The minutes stretched as Dean tried to resist the needs of his body. Heavy breaths left him. His gaze dropped down to Sam’s hand working him over his pants. “Alright,” he said finally, eyes locking with Sam’s. “Alright Sammy.” The deck had been stacked against him right from the beginning. 

Sam’s eyes widened as he searched Dean’s face for the truth. “Really?”

“Really.” Dean licked his lips. “Get up.” When Sam stood, Dean sat up. He pulled the marshmallow sticks out of the fire, then got on his knees in front of Sam. Looking up, he started to unzip Sam’s jeans, brushing his hand over his cock a few times until he felt Sam harden.

Sam sucked in an audible breath, blushing to a deep shade of scarlet as he felt his body respond. He shifted his weight awkwardly and found himself capturing his bottom lip between his teeth, worrying it as he stared down at Dean.

Dean pulled the jeans open and leaned in, mouthing Sam over his cotton shorts. He moved his face back and forth, tugging the jeans down slowly and moving his mouth lower. Sam was hard. Hard for him, and nothing affected Dean as much as Sam’s reaction to him. 

Sam gasped in a breath, his body jerking away out of reflex before pushing back toward Dean’s talented teasing mouth. His eyes slipped closed and soft moans broke from his throat.

Slowly, Dean stood up and tugged Sam’s shirt off. “I’m gonna get the lube. Don’t move,” he whispered, backing away from him, his eyes moving hungrily over Sam’s body, golden fire light playing over his skin. 

Sam whimpered miserably when Dean withdrew his mouth. His brow creased with disgruntlement as his eyes met his lover’s. But Dean’s words had him swallowing hard.

Finding himself alone in the room, Sam slid his hand down beneath the denim to cup his throbbing length through his boxers. A long low groan broke from deep in his throat, his eyes closing as he started to slide his hand along his length right over the cotton fabric. 

When Dean returned to the room, he stood in his tracks, enthralled by the sight of Sam touching himself. His heart kicked up and his chest tightened. So damned hot, and his Sam had no idea. _Faster_ he practically willed Sam’s hand to move, his nostrils flaring as he watched. 

Slowly, Sam pulled his head up and opened his eyes as he gave his cock one last stroke through the material of his boxers. Releasing himself, he turned his head to search for Dean, only to widen his eyes when he found his lover standing near. “You were watching,” he accused shyly as he lowered his gaze and ducked his head.

“Yeah,” Dean breathed heavily. “Couldn’t help it.” Slowly, he made his way over to Sam, dropping the lube bottle down on the rug in front of the fire. He took Sam into his arms and kissed him wildly, with all the heat that built up inside him as he’d watched Sam jack himself. He ran his hands all over Sam, his back, his sides... his ass. Molding him against his own body, against his erection now pressing uncomfortably against his zipper.

Sam lifted his head just in time for Dean’s lips to capture his own in a passionate kiss. He tried his best to give as good as he got but he knew that he had to be falling short compared to what Dean was doing to him with the mere slide and caress of his tongue against his own. His knees felt weak and he wasn’t completely sure that if Dean were to release him right now if he could remain standing.

When they were both out of breath, Dean pulled back a little, though his hands were gripping Sam’s hips, holding him close. “You give me fireworks in my pants,” he whispered, loving the deep flush that crept up Sam’s chest and face. 

Sam couldn’t help the way he ducked his head even as a chuckle worked its way past his lips at just how ridiculous what Dean said sounded even to his virgin ears.

Dipping his head, Dean nuzzled Sam’s throat, kissing him and giving him little love bites. As he moved lower, his tongue latched onto Sam’s nipple. He teased it until it hardened into a tight bud. 

Sam found himself lifting his head as Dean nuzzled at his throat and then tipping it back to offer more of the tender flesh up to his lover’s mouth. His eyes slipped closed on a deep low moan and his lips parted with his heavy breaths.   
“Oh God, yeah,” he breathed softly.

In the next second he found himself sucking in an audible breath. “Oh God...” he whispered huskily, his hips cantering forward of their own accord. “Please don’t stop,” he begged breathlessly.

Smiling against Sam’s smooth skin, Dean turned his attention to Sam’s other nipple. As he teased and licked, he sometimes pulled Sam closer, forcing their hips together and groaning softly.

Despite Sam’s protests, he moved his mouth lower. Dragging his tongue down Sam’s abs, swirling it around and sucking a bit of his sensitive flesh into his mouth. 

Lowering down to his knees, he started to work Sam’s pants down his hips. With another strong tug, he had the pants pooled at Sam’s ankles.

Sam forced his eyes open to mere passion glazed slits, watching his lover. He automatically lifted a foot, kicking the material of his jeans loose, then lifted his other foot to do the same. “Wanna touch you,” he murmured huskily. “Wanna do the same to you as you’re doing to me.”

“You’ll get your chance,” Dean promised, curling his fingers around the waistband of Sam’s boxers. Slowly, he pulled them down, his breath audibly catching the moment Sam’s hard dick sprang free. “Touch yourself again, Sam,” he pleaded, looking up as he pulled the shorts all the way down.

Sam’s breath left him in a shuddery rush at the look of unabashed need and want within his lover’s heated eyes. He swallowed hard and lifted a trembling hand from his side and wrapped his fingers around the length of his own shaft. His tongue darted out, licking nervously across his lips as he stared into the depths of his lover’s eyes.

“L-like this?” Sam asked shakily, his voice husky and thick with arousal.

“Oh God yes,” Dean answered in a barely whispered plea, his eyes darting between Sam’s hand and his face, taking in his every reaction. “So fucking hot, Sammy.”

Watching intently, Dean’s pants grew uncomfortably tight and he was forced to unzip. Sighing with relief, he picked up the lube and, still on his knees, he circled around behind Sam. “Keep going,” he whispered, getting a thrill from watching the movements of Sam’s arm and hand, and listening to the sounds he made. Moving closer, he kissed Sam’s ass cheek, then moved his head to the side to watch Sam while he simultaneously opened up the lube bottle. 

Sam obeyed, moving his hand along the length of his cock, teasing the head with his thumb with each upward stroke. He watched Dean’s reactions as long as he could before his eyes squeezed tightly closed. His head tipped back and his lips parted, letting out of moans and grunts.

Sam was so caught up in the sensations washing over him, until Dean’s lips pressed against his ass, he wasn’t even aware his lover had moved. He pulled his head up and cracked his passion glazed eyes open to mere slits. 

“Tell...tell me what you’re gonna do,” he panted huskily. “Wanna hear it,” Sam explained thickly as his hips thrust forward, pushing his dick into his own fist.

“I’m gonna loosen you up. Get you used to having something inside you. Get you ready for me,” Dean said, running his hand over Sam’s ass, squeezing his cheek. “Then I’m gonna love you into next year.” 

A soft shuddery rush of breath left Sam, his body trembling. He closed his eyes and nodded, swallowing hard and trying to regain a little composure.

Drizzling some lube onto his fingers, Dean pulled Sam’s ass cheek to one side and started rubbing the lube over his hole. “Think of me pressing my dick against you. You know, like I like to do in the mornings,” he suggested. “Keep working yourself.”

Sam took a sharp breath. He pictured Dean thrusting against him, pressing his cock against the cleft of his ass while stroking his dick. Pretending it was Dean’s hand on him made him more desperate. 

“That’s it, that’s it baby. It’s me, pressing against you. I want in... I want in so bad,’ Dean rasped, using more lube and working his finger slowly inside Sam. “You’re so damned tight. Squeezing around me. Making me want you so bad.” He kept whispering, talking, wanting to distract and stimulate Sam.

Sam’s breath came in heavy pants between his parted lips. He stroked harder, nearly tugging at himself as his hips bucked and pushed back against his lover’s finger. He reached back with his free hand and grabbed hold of Dean’s shoulder, his fingertips digging into the tender flesh.

Soft whimpering moans broke from his throat intermingled with soft, breathy grunts and mewls. “Dean...” he groaned pushing back against his lover’s invading finger as his fingertips dug harder into Dean’s shoulder.

Turning his head to the side, Dean kissed Sam’s arm, then leaned in and moved his mouth across the small of his back. He never stopped moving his finger deeper, then started to pull it part way out and slide it back in. “Gonna be inside you so deep, Sam. Want it, want it bad.” He squeezed his eyes shut as images of himself fucking Sam carded through his mind. “Still want me to?” he asked, trying to be the guy Sam deserved.

“Yeah,” Sam responded breathily immediately. His eyes remained squeezed tightly closed and his head fell forward, hanging limply between his shoulder blades as he thrust his hips, pushing his cock into his first and pushing back against Dean’s finger. “Want you,” he breathed, “So bad.”

Dean stood up. In a single smooth move, he peeled his shirt off and dropped it to the floor. Slowly, he shucked his pants. Then he dropped his shorts and immediately pressed against Sam, kissing his neck. He made his way to the corner of Sam’s mouth, then turned him in his arms, pulling him into his embrace. The sensation of Sam’s now dripping cock pressing against his stomach had Dean groaning with need.

Slowly, he walked Sam to the rug and pulled him down. Sitting, they kissed in front of the fire, caressing each other. Loving each other. 

Soft sighs and low groans broke from Sam’s throat as they kissed and touched. His cock throbbed and twitched wantonly. “Makin’ me ache,” he murmured huskily between kisses.

“Yeah? You’ve always got me achin’,” Dean answered, covering Sam’s mouth with his own and swallowing his moans. Slowly, he pushed Sam down onto his back, grabbing one of the pillows and shoving it under Sam’s head. 

When he settled over Sam, he kissed and touched him, whispering to him, “Love you, Sammy.” He took his time, showing Sam all the ways he cared for him, before he spread his legs apart. 

Moving back, on his knees between Sam’s legs, Dean poured lube into his fist and closed it around himself. He pumped his own cock, the way Sam had done earlier, his eyes locked with his lover’s. 

By the time Dean pulled away and rose up onto his knees, Sam was panting heavily, his chest rising and falling with each breath he took from between his parted lips. His tongue darted out quickly to lick across his lips as he gazed heatedly up at his lover. A deep guttural groan broke past his lips as he watched Dean stroke himself, one of his own hands lifting to his cock to stroke it as he watched Dean. He caught his bottom lip between his teeth, nostrils flaring, and he couldn’t help the almost jealous whimpering whine that broke from his throat as he reached up with his free hand to grab Dean’s wrist, stopping any further movement of his lover’s fisted along his dick.

“Mine,” he corrected thickly, possessively.

Watching Sam from under his thick lashes, Dean gave a pained groan. “‘Achin,’” he rasped, though he released himself. He was so damned hard, his cock angled up to his stomach. Drenched in lube, it gleamed as the fire cast its light across his body.

Sam nodded his agreement. “Me too,” he rasped softly.

His eyes lowered from Dean’s to watch as he slid his hand down his lover’s wrist, taking Dean’s hand within his own and lacing their fingers together. “I love you,” he whispered huskily as he lifted his eyes back to Dean’s.

Curling his fingers around Sam’s, Dean gave a nod. “Love you.” 

He ran his free hand down Sam’s thigh, then scooted closer and aligned the head of his cock to Sam’s hole. He lifted Sam’s hand up, kissed his wrist, then untangled their fingers. Dropping down, his hands on either side of Sam’s body, he brought their mouths together. As he pushed his tongue inside Sam’s mouth, he started to push his hips forward, one hand between their bodies, guiding himself inside Sam.

Sam’s moan of pleasure at Dean’s kiss turned into a grunt, his brow creasing in reaction to the pain of his lover’s invasion. He lifted his hand and gripped Dean’s shoulder, fingertips digging brutally into the tender flesh as he groaned and suddenly arched his neck, tearing his mouth from Dean’s. He gulped in air and a grunted groan ripped from his throat as he turned his head to one side, pressing his cheek down against the soft pillow.

“Burns,” he panted softly, his chest rising and falling heavily with each breath.

Dean stopped pressing. He gritted his teeth as he fought his body’s urges. Searching Sam’s face, he waited until he saw him relax a little, before he pushed again, slipping inside another inch. “It’ll be better once I’m inside you all the way,” he promised. He brushed his mouth over Sam’s, used his tongue to trace the outline of Sam’s firm lips. “Kiss me,” he demanded, needing to distract Sam.

Sam nodded as he panted and allowed his eyes to slip closed. He slowly began to relax, the intensity of the burn ebbing as he kissed Dean. He forced his hand from Dean’s shoulder, running it along his lover’s shoulders and upper back, caressing him as their tongues tangled and slid against each other. He teased Dean’s tongue, coaxing it into his own mouth where he captured it and sucked at the muscle the same way he would his lover’s cock, lifting his head slightly up off the pillow and sliding his mouth along the length of Dean’s tongue.

Groaning, Dean had to wonder which of the two of them was in control. Sam seemed to instinctively know exactly how to push all of his buttons, and right now, every nerve in his body was firing off. “Sam... fu--” As their mouths moved against each other, his words were cut off.

He started to push his hips forward again, pumping gently but firmly, pushing himself inside Sam. Just as he felt Sam’s fingers bite into him, he pushed one more time. His hips slotted against Sam’s and he was all the way in. “God...” he groaned, feeling Sam’s inner muscles tighten around him and spasm. “You... you okay?” he asked, biting his lower lip and struggling to maintain control.

Sam released his hold on Dean’s tongue and tore his mouth away, gasping in an audible breath as his neck arched back and his fingers dug into the tender flesh of Dean’s back and shoulder. He nodded, unable to actually speak. He blew out a small breath and drew air in, then exhaled a little more, and drew in more air... concentrating on breathing until the burning pain, that seemed to bloom in his ass and spread outward all through his body, slowly dissipated.  
Blowing out a hot breath, he nodded again but didn’t relax his hold on his lover. He swallowed hard and his tongue darted out, licking across his dry lips. “Yeah,” he grunt-groaned, “M’okay.”

“Sure?” Dean kissed Sam lightly, concentrating hard on keeping still. “I’ll wait. As long as you need,” he promised, though his voice shook with his effort.

Sam gazed up at his lover with passion glazed eyes, his pupils lust blown. “I - I think...” he murmured nervously, tongue darting out to lick across his lips. “Try movin’ a little maybe?” he suggested, his forehead creasing with uncertainty.

“Okay.” Dean drew in a deep breath. Swallowing, he started to move his hips, letting out a hiss at the pressure around his cock, the building need to take Sam. He moved again, rocking gently to a rhythm that was about ten times slower than he needed to go. But memories of his own first time made him determined to spare Sam the pain.

Sam sucked in a breath and his eyes snapped closed, his hand against Dean’s back moved so that his arm could wrap tightly around his lover as he turned his head and buried his face against Dean’s neck. His warm breaths fanned against his lover’s skin as he took in shuddering breaths, his hips moving in answer to Dean’s. He could feel his inner muscles clenching and releasing around his lover’s dick and each contraction of those muscles sent pleasure-pain singing through his veins.

“That’s it, that’s it baby. Relax, it’s going to be good. It’ll get good,” Dean promised over and over, taking his cues from the way Sam gripped him. When his hold loosened, Dean moved a little harder, when he felt fingers bite into him, he slowed down. And when he felt Sam’s tension melt away, he started to fuck at a more natural pace. 

For all his talk of waiting, Dean had wanted this. Just because he’d been willing to wait didn’t mean he hadn’t been dreaming of it. Of making Sam his. He brought his mouth over Sam’s, kissing him again as he moved deeper. Slowly he pulled out part way, and pushed inside again, groaning at the sweet agony.

Sam eagerly returned his lover’s kisses only to wind up sucking in Dean’s breath as he gasped and his back arched at the intense pleasure that shot through his body, pooling low and thick in his gut. His fingers dug into his lover’s forearms as he tore his mouth away and stared up at Dean, eyes almost comically wide.

“What...? Do - do that again,” he stammered huskily.

“You mean this?” Dean asked, angling his hips. “Nah... I think we should wait until you’re like thirty...”

Sam stared up at Dean utterly stupefied and speechless. His lips moved but no sound came out and his grasp on Dean tightened as though he were afraid that his lover might suddenly disappear. “Wha-what?” he managed to croak out at long last.

Chuckling, Dean kissed him. Finding he could barely move, Dean whispered, “Relax... put your legs around me. Then hold on.” 

Sam nodded though it took his body a little longer than his brain to listen to Dean. Slowly, he loosened his hold on his lover, wrapping his long legs around Dean’s waist. This time, when he wrapped his arms around Dean, he didn’t hold on tight as if bracing for pain. He allowed his hands to smooth up and down the skin of his lover’s back.

“Good,” Dean said, looking into Sam’s trusting eyes, shining with love and hot with desire. He moved his hips slowly, experimentally, until he found the right angle and started to thrust. He went slow and was deliberate in his motions, sometimes penetrating deep, and sometimes pumping lightly, angling his thrusts to hit Sam’s prostate once every few thrusts. He wouldn’t overstimulate him, not yet, but he wanted to keep him waiting for the next time, and the next. 

Sam moaned, held onto his lover and simply enjoyed the ride; moving his body counter to each of Dean’s motions. He found himself writhing with desire and lust. Surprised by his own wantonness, a deep blush stained his already flushed cheeks.

Dean could tell when Sam got more comfortable with what they were doing. His responses, the way his inner muscles closed around him, and the way Sam raised his hips at just the right time, wound Dean up tighter. “Fuck... Sammy, why didn’t we do this sooner?” he managed to tease. Already, his lover was flushed, his eyes soft and unfocused, and looking totally fucked out.

Sam managed a soft, barely there chuckle at Dean’s teasing words, his body writhing beneath his lover’s and following the rhythm that Dean had set as he thrust upward and pushed back against his lover’s dick. “Heh, thought you’d never ask,” he breathed out in a rush. 

“I know, right? Cause a whole week...” Biting his lower lip, Dean started to move faster, harder. He pulled part way out of Sam and thrust his hips hard, groaning when he was sheathed in Sam’s tight heat. The sharp pleasure lancing through him had him biting back an oath. He pressed his knees down on the ground and rose slightly. Now, he could thrust with more pressure, and he could concentrate on the feel of Sam’s hard cock trapped between their bodies. “Ungh... good Sam, so good,” he ground out, picking up the tempo as fire spread in his veins. 

Sam’s neck arched back with the pleasure that was singing through his veins. He allowed his arms to fall away from Dean and lifted them up over his head, grabbing at the bottom of the couch nearby. His hips continued to move at the rhythm of Dean’s thrusts as his head rolled to one side and soft moans and grunted sighing groans broke from his throat.

The force of Sam’s thrusts inflamed Dean. A deep growl broke from him, and then he was fucking as hard as he could. It wasn’t what he’d planned, not for Sam’s first time. But he couldn’t help himself, not when Sam made no effort to slow him down. As the pressure built inside him, he lowered his mouth over Sam’s and thrust his tongue into his mouth, tangling their tongues together, the same way their bodies were tangled.

Sam’s gasped when Dean’s lips closed over his own, the sound muffled against Dean’s mouth. He kissed Dean back, giving a good as he was getting. His own hips picked up pace, matching Dean’s move for move, his hard cock dragging against his lover’s muscled stomach.

As Dean was pushed to the edge, his thrusts grew reckless and uncontrolled. Every muscle in his body tensed, every cell cried out for release. “Come, Sam,” he rasped, “come with me.” His entire body spasmed suddenly. Squeezing his eyes shut, he shouted Sam’s name as he bucked his hips hard, coming deep inside his lover.

Sam’s straining muscles tensed as he shook his head from side to side, trying to hold out, to push back against the overwhelming sensations. He forced his eyes open at Dean’s words, afraid Dean was catering to him. But seeing the raw need in Dean’s eyes, he tightened his legs around Dean’s body and strained and bucked against him, rubbing his throbbing cock against Dean’s stomach. He suddenly tightened his inner muscles, clamping them around his lover’s dick. As he felt Dean come inside him, a deep groan ripped from the back of Sam’s throat and the first rope of come shot from his own cock, smearing against both their bellies.

“Oh God yes... yes...” Dean whispered as Sam’s cum spread across his stomach. “Fuck... yeah...” They both kept moving for a while. Their pace slowing as they rode the last waves of their release, sometimes kissing, sometimes whispering. And then, when Sam’s legs unlocked from around his waist, Dean rolled both of them over. “Happy New Year, baby,” he rasped, between ragged breaths.

Sam found himself on top of Dean before he realized what had happened and a deep blush stained his features at his lover’s words. He ducked his head shyly before lifting it almost tentatively to gaze adoringly down at Dean. “It will be as long as I’m with you.”

“You’re not going anywhere. Neither am I.” Dean smiled, pushed the curtain of hair out of Sam’s eyes and kissing him soundly. Then his stomach gave a loud growl. 

He broke the kiss. “What happened to the marshmallows? You know, if you want me to keep up my energy, you gotta feed me.”

Sam chuckled and licked the taste of his lover’s kiss from his lips as he turned his head and briefly looked back toward the fireplace before returning his eyes to Dean’s face. “I think you put them aside somewhere,” he said with a slight shrug, “But I dunno where.”

“You find them.” Dean stretched out. “What? I did all the work...”

Sam stared down at Dean then scoffed at his lover’s words. “Work, what work?” he huffed with a playful scowl. “Okay, fine, I’ll be on top next time,” he offered, the mere idea bringing a deep dark magenta flush to his cheeks.

“After dessert. You’re on. Ride me, cowboy, hee haw,” Dean made a motions that looked like he was waving an invisible cowboy hat, then threw his head back and laughed when Sam somehow managed to change into an even darker shade of red. 

Sam found himself ducking his head as he turned it shyly away from Dean. He also hid his smirk since that had not been what he meant, but he wasn’t about to correct Dean. 

Hearing the New Year countdown begin, he scurried off Dean so that his lover could watch the iPad too. “New Years,” he announced as he moved to the blanket next to Dean, curling himself up against his lover side.

As Sam propped the iPad down in front of them and watched the excited crowd in New York, Dean watched Sam. “Maybe Christmas isn’t so bad after all,” he said, “But for me, New Years is always going to be _the big bang_.”

Sam tore his gaze away from the screen, laughing when his eyes met Dean’s. He shook his head as he sighed heavily and tightened his arm around his lover. “Gotcha,” he started with a nod. “Note to self. If we’re ever starving, do not let you try out as a comedian,” he snickered. 

Dean shoved him with his shoulder. “Right, we’ll just rent me out,” he said, timing it just so that the crowd was shouting “one!” which gave him a great excuse to kiss Sam into silence.

Sam’s eyes widened with indignation, Dean’s mouth preventing him from voicing his threats. Then his eyes slowly slid shut and he wrapped his arms around Dean, kissing him back in a way that told Dean exactly who he belonged to.

THE END


End file.
